19 The Edge of Sanity
by Thescarredman
Summary: Anna's humanity, and Jack's, are sorely tested when a gang of brutal kidnappers sets its eye on the Lynch 'family.'
1. Meeting the Boys

**Author's note: ****If you're a regular reader, you know my stories are usually pretty vanilla. This one is different: dark and violent and graphic. I**t's one of those that took on a life of its own in the writing. It disturbed me to write it, and I walked away from it for quite a while. I've edited it severely; the original would easily have deserved an MA rating.

**I debated publishing it here, even in its present abridged form. But it contains story elements that are important later on. This is no story for a new reader; start with one of the entry stories listed in the profile. If any regular readers have problems with this sort of thing, you can just read the first and last chapters and skip the rest without continuity loss.**

April 21 2006  
Escondido, California

These men weren't muggers, Anna decided, and they certainly weren't International Operations agents. As the three of them stepped out from among the cars in the parking lot and surrounded her at her minivan, she analyzed them while feigning unease at their approach. Two of them looked soft and overweight, one of them obese; the third was taller, and looked quite muscular, but her hearing picked up a wheeze from him that indicated years of cigarettes. Her threat assessment software assigned them a value near zero, even when the one with the salt-and-pepper ponytail pulled back the loose tail of his flannel shirt to discreetly reveal a gun.

"What, what do you want?" She hugged the large paper bag of groceries tight to her chest. The man with the gun looked her over, and she could tell by his eyes that he didn't know any more about her than what he saw: early twenties, five-one and a hundred pounds. Cute and scared, an alarmed and timid little housewife. "I have money, if that's…"

She debated whether to engage them. As close as they were crowding her, she felt sure she could let go of the bag and kill all three before it hit the pavement. No parking lot security cams would expose her; she always parked her minivan in this section of the lot because she had discovered a blind spot in the coverage.

_Take the big brute first, then the ridiculous ponytail with the gun. Save the tubby one with the clown haircut for last; even if he runs, he doesn't look like he could get in view of a camera before I drop him. Keep it neat, so I don't mess up the van too much when I stuff them in. Then head for the city limits. There are places I can dump them forty feet from the shoulder and they won't be found for days._ She felt her awareness and time sense stretching as she moved toward her decision.

The one with the gun answered. "Just a little talk, missy. With you and your good friend Lynch. Come along quiet now."

All thoughts of killing them out of hand disappeared, as suddenly as a light when the plug is kicked out of the wall. _How do these men know Jack? And how did they find us? It's a brand new safe house - we haven't been here a month._

While Ponytail held the gun on her, the tall one plucked the car keys from her hand and pressed the button to unlock the doors. Clown Boy slid open the side door of her minivan and climbed into the second seat. The gunman pushed her in from behind, followed her in, and closed the door. Neither man reached for her bag. _It keeps my_ _hands in sight, and limits my movements. They've done this before._ Once she was firmly sandwiched in the seat, the big one with the keys got behind the wheel.

Hands gripped her upper arms. She smelled the anesthetic before the cloth was pressed to her face. She struggled convincingly for a moment before she went limp, letting the groceries spill out of her lap. Her unarmed seatmate grabbed the bag and pressed her back into the seat, copping a leisurely feel as he did so. _Jerk. I don't care if you turn out to be Jack's long-lost brother; sometime soon, that hand is going to get broken._

"Kinda cute," said the masher, the one she'd tagged "Clown Boy" for the bushy hairline that circled the crown of his head.

"Runt of the litter," said the tall one, Gorilla Man, as he started the engine and carefully backed out of the parking space. "Even smaller than the jailbait with the dye job."

"Yeah, but I'd take any of em. Whaddaya think, Ace? We want some leverage with this guy, maybe two's better than one?"

_I'd like to see you losers try kidnapping one of my girls. I'm sure they'd introduce each of you to some novel way of shuffling off this mortal coil: toasted, crushed, or just hurled into orbit, maybe. Whoever you guys are, you don't know squat about Genactives._

"Forget about it," replied 'Ace,' the one with the gun and the ponytail. "This one's runnin the house. You really think Lynch is tappin her?"

"She's the one who rushed out the front door to give him a kiss just before he turned outta the driveway. Took em two minutes. We got the right one."

"The old goat. She looks like she's hardly outta trainin bras."

_Sometimes, you just can't help yourself. _She let her head fall sideways as Gorilla Man turned out of the lot, giving Ace a solid skull rap in the ear. He cursed and pushed her away. "Hang on to her, dammit!"

"Sure." Clown Boy put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close; she let her head fall loose on his shoulder. He parted the unzipped front of her red hooded jacket, pulled the sides down around her shoulders, and cupped her breast in his hand through her shirt. "More than a handful's a waste, I always say."

_It's hard to feed yourself with two broken hands, I always say. If I was sure I could spare the moisture, I'd drool into your collar._

"That the same stuff we used last time? She went down kinda quick."

"Yeah, I just got more on the rag. When I loaded it up, we weren't sure which one we were gonna pick up, and I didn't wanna take any chances with the redhead; she looks like she could put up a fight."

"_Put up a fight." She could kill you in the middle of a sneeze._

From the front seat, Gorilla Man said, "Well, get that sucker back in the baggie, before we all start gettin woozy."

They headed north on I-15, pacing traffic and driving cautiously. She wondered if knocking her out was an attempt to conceal their destination, as well as keep her quiet. If so, it was utterly futile. The anesthetic had no effect on her, and she was able to open her eyes for ten milliseconds at a time, scanning her surroundings without her bio captors noticing, thanks to their much slower image processing. Her built-in milspec GPS unit registered the car's transponder continuously and located her within a four-meter circle. Given that these boys spoke like New York goodfellas, she was sure she had a better feel for their location than they did.

Twenty minutes into the trip, Ace said, "Time to give her the rag again?"

"Not if you want her to wake up ever," said Clown Boy. "Why you always wanna dip em in this shit? It's easy to OD somebody on it. Little as she is, she might not start to come around for an hour yet. Wait till she stirs some before we hit her again."

"In that case, are ya sure you didn't kill her off already? That would make me real unhappy, Bennie."

"Don't worry, Ace. She's breathin on my neck here, steady as a little metronome. Lemme check her temp." She felt Clown Boy's/Bennie's hand leave her breast and start working on her shirt buttons.

"Ah, Jeez, Bennie," Ace said. "Get your hand outta there and button her back up before somebody sees that. Even with tinted windows, somebody might spot it at a light. We don't want to be remembered, _remember?_"

"Yeah, sure." He restored her clothing, but refastened only the lowest of the shirt buttons. Two minutes later, she felt his fingers working at the button of her jeans. "Hey, these are comin off anyway. Any bets she's a _nat-_ural blonde?"

_Forget the hands; it's the balls that have got to go._

Gorilla Man looked into the rear view mirror. "Ain't you _gettin_ enough, man? I know the old lady ain't puttin out for ya no more, but Poker Night was just two Saturdays ago. The little party with that hooker was all you could talk about for _days_."

Bennie had snugged her up tight against him, and was working his hand down into the front of her unzipped pants. "Yeah, that was a pretty good Poke-Her night, but a hooker's just a hooker. I got a thing for these glee-club types: act like butter won't melt in their mouths, but lotsa times they turn out to be perfect little sluts. I bet this one fucks like a _mink_."

_One at a time; first the left one, slowly, then the right. Then I'll make you gag on your own penis, _before_ I detach it… _She caught herself. _What am I_ thinking?_ Where's _this _attitude coming from?_ She executed a file log query to determine her recent file usage, and looked at her execution queue. As she'd expected, the Alpha file had opened at the same time these men had accosted her, and was now hovering near the top of her queue. _My CPU must have accessed my combat-skills package as soon as they showed up, and again for information on abduction technique. _She sighed. _So now the bitch is out of her box._

"That feel good, baby?" His breath smelled of beer and garlic. Crushing his windpipe would be half a second's work. She restrained an impulse to grab his throat, and tried to talk herself out of her murderous urges.

_Come on, Anna, he's not some IO storm trooper; he's just an old pervert who has to share a prostitute with his buddies to get any sex. None of them would survive a Two-style interrogation; the way Gorilla Man's breathing, he could keel over at the wheel any second. If I'm going to find out what they know, I've got to coax it out of them. So let's just keep our temper down and our claws sheathed._

_But it's damned hard to do with this jerk. Being limp and unresponsive sure isn't dimming his interest; what else can I do? Embarrass him, maybe. Try messing with his head, and maybe I'll stop thinking about messing with his intestines. _

She took a breath and let it out slowly, turning it into a sigh. His hand stilled.

"Whoa. Control, we have liftoff."

"She wakin up?"

"Not sure. I think she might be dreamin," he said, as she moved her head slightly, to a more natural position against his shoulder. One of her hands slid loosely from her lap to his. His pheromone count shot up; inthe closed car, the other two men responded in kind, unknowing. Their respiration roughened.

Softly, but quite clearly, she murmured, "Mmm. Again, Jack?" She pressed her hand against the inside of his thigh ten inches from his crotch. She moved her fingers as if searching for something, then let a puzzled frown drift across her features. "Where'd y'go?" She said mushily.

She had been hoping to embarrass Clown Boy, perhaps initiate a joke or two at his expense that would make his behavior seem ridiculous instead of macho. The response she got was telling and unexpected.

Ace snarled, "_Fuckin_ little bitch." She heard a soft pop, and the drug-soaked cloth was pressed hard against her face, knocking her head off Bennie's shoulder and slamming it into the back of the seat.

Bennie yanked his hand out of her pants so fast she was grateful her pubic hairs had been so firmly attached. He gripped Ace's hands in both of his, trying to pull the rag from her face, but the other man's grip was stronger; he had turned around in the seat and had a lot of his weight behind it. The car swerved slightly. "Shut…the fuck…_up_," Ace said, emphasizing each word with an extra push, as if his hands were on her throat instead of covering her face. She heard his heart speed up, hitching like an engine with its timing off.

Bennie was still pulling futilely at Ace's wrists. "Let go you're gonna kill her! Ace, if she dies, the whole plan turns to shit. Don't do this, man, let go. Let go, so we can have our little talk with good old Jack." She could feel the hand holding the rag to her face tremble, then suddenly jerk away. The springs in the seat back, relieved of pressure, shoved her forward, and would have tumbled her limp form onto the center console between the front buckets; but Bennie caught her and pressed her back into the seats, by the shoulders this time, and felt her wrist for a pulse. She let it stutter to a stop for five seconds, then resume.

"_Shit_. For a second there, her heart stopped, I swear. Don't do that again, Ace. Just let me keep her quiet, okay?"

"Then keep her quiet. I do _not _want to hear that shit."

Gorilla Man rolled down a window. "Jesus Christ, get that fucker in a bag. I almost missed the turnoff. How bad is it back there?"

She felt a thumb on her eyelid; she expanded her pupils to indicate a heavily sedated state just as Bennie lifted one, then the other. "Jeezus, the color's gone out of her eyes, her pupils are so fuckin big. You do that again, we'll lose her for sure." He fumbled with her zipper, trying to pull it up.

"Leave that. Like you said, they're comin off anyway."

"The kid's gonna see us bring her in."

"So?"

"So he's nervous enough already. How much you want him to suspect, before we spring this little surprise party?" He got the zipper up, and closed the button of her jeans.

Gorilla Man said, "Kid don't have a clue; he believes what I tell him. Thinks we brought him along to start him in the family business. We're lookin to put the squeeze on a guy who ran out on a debt, that's all. He doesn't _expect _to be told anything yet, he knows the rules." He paused as he selected an exit. "Close enough to the truth."

_Shades of Don Corleone, are these guys for real?_

Ace settled back into the seat. "The biggest lies are always like that, Chucky boy."

"Been tellin you for fifty years not to call me that, since we were kids sharin the same _bedroom_ I been tellin you that."

"And I been ignoring you for just as long; ain't nobody called you by that pussy name your whole life. Get over it."

They left the interstate, and almost immediately entered a small town or subdivision that had seen better days; most of the houses had the run-down look of poorly managed rentals. They slowed at a home almost indistinguishable from its neighbors and turned into the driveway, stopping at the side door.

Ace's mouth twisted as he looked at the house and driveway. "Why the hell didn't you get a place with an attached garage? Now we gotta carry her out of the car, in front of God and school kids and all the neighbors."

"You only gave me three days to set this up, from home no less," Gorilla Man/Chucky replied. "This place is furnished, some, and the outside walls are brick, nice and secure. The house that overlooks the door is vacant. People who move in around here mind their own business and get the hell out as soon as they can find something better. Nobody knows anybody. It's Friday afternoon, so the kids are still in school. Quit your bitchin and let's do this."

Chucky got out, climbing two steep steps, and beat on the door. She couldn't see it open without moving her head, but she heard the hinges squeak. "Where the hell were you at? You were supposed to be watchin for us."

"Sorry," came a new voice, much younger. "You were gone for hours. I was cleaning up in the other room. What do I need to do?"

"Just hold the door open, and make sure nobody's watchin."

The van door rolled open. Ace slid out. Bennie pushed her over so that she fell across the seat, head towards the door, then tucked her hands into her front pants pockets. Ace got his hands under her arms and pulled. When her rear end was about to clear the seat, Chuck got his arms under the small of her back and lifted, grunting. "Heavier than she looks."

"Shit, you're just gettin old. I got a dog weighs more than this."

_It's not my weight, Chuck; it's the distribution. I have an extra ten pounds in my forearms that Ace can't feel._

As they continued to pull her out of the car, Bennie slid out and grabbed her calves just before her heels came off the seat. Clearly, they were as practiced at removing limp bodies from cars as they were at forcing unwilling passengers in. _There may be something to this gangster act, after all. _

"What's wrong with her?" The stranger sounded like he was standing at the door. Ace's backwards progress to the doorway put her head in about the right position. She opened her eyes for a snap scan of the new man, and was so startled that she almost didn't close them in time.

The face, staring at her in alarm, was Bobby's. Well, not really; the hair and eyes and complexion were all darker, Latin-looking. But in his cheeks and chin and the shape of the eyes, he resembled Jack's son so strongly that it riveted her attention for an extra millisecond.

Ace was through the door with her head and shoulders; Bennie, with his hands under her knees, placed a foot on the step. Chuck, forced to walk sideways up the steps in a crouch, missed the top step, stepping off the stairs entirely, and lost his grip on her waist. Her butt dropped to the doorsill as she folded, then Ace lost his balance and, still holding her under the arms, fell backwards to the floor. Her legs slipped out of Bennie's grip and she landed on her back, on top of Ace.

_Hilarious. Jack would have thrown me over his shoulder and opened the door with his free hand. These guys might have been truly dangerous once, but those days are long gone. What do they want with Jack?_

"Fuck," Chuck said.

"Just get her in here and _shut_ that fucking door."

"She's not _dead_, is she?" It was the boy again.

"Hell, no, she's just dead _weight_," was Bennie's reply.

With a few more curses, Ace managed to push himself upright and lifted her shoulders again. "Okay, let's go." He and Bennie carried her through the dingy living room. The kitchen was open to the living room, and littered with fast-food wrappers. A door was set in the back wall, not far from the kitchen table; they opened it and took her through.

The room behind the kitchen, apparently an add-on, was a windowless space about fifteen by twenty feet, dimly lit by an overhead fixture. In millisecond glimpses, she catalogued the meager furnishings as they maneuvered her into the room: a grimy wall-to-wall carpet of indeterminate color, a pressboard armoire, and two floor lamps. Not quite against the right-hand wall, incongruously, stood a beautiful antique four-poster made of tarnished brass, its massive head and foot boards shaped like wrought iron fences. The sheets lay tumbled on the floor at its foot; the mattress, she noted, was solid as a board, as they dumped her sideways across it with her legs dangling over.

"Bennie, I want that car back in the lot fast, so stick to business, hear me?"

"No problem." She felt Bennie's fingertips on her wrist. "Damn. Pulse is like, fifty and faint. She might croak on us yet."

"Then, maybe we better _hurry_? Chucky, get her purse, go through it and see what you find."

Bennie unlaced her shoes, a pair of sturdy cross trainers, removed them, and set them on the bed. "Aww, look at the cute little footie socks. Got little pink _ribbons _on em, too. Let her keep em?"

"Not a stitch. It all goes with Chucky, along with the pictures."

Her pants went next; Bennie undid the button and zipper, then gripped the cuffs and pulled sharply, trying to whisk them off. She slid bonelessly off the edge, the hoodie rucking up around her neck, and her rear end bumped to the floor. Ace, busy at the open armoire, glared and came over to help hoist her back onto the bed. "If we lay her out lengthwise, do you s'pose you can finish this up without dumpin her?"

"Hey, her pants were just a little tight, that's all."

"You didn't notice that when you had your hand down em?"

Chucky appeared in the doorway. "I been through a lotta chick's purses, and I seen some weird shit, but this is some _weird _shit."

Ace snorted. "What, a gas powered vibrator, maybe?" He moved towards the door, while Bennie resumed his work.

"More like Batman's utility belt. Everything's in pockets, looks like they're made just for what's in em, and there's a ton of stuff in here. Check this out: two cell phones."

"Two? So what's she do, talk to herself?"

"No. Looks like she doesn't use em at all."

"How so?"

"Neither one's got a call history; phonebooks are empty too. If she uses em, she erases the calls when she's done."

_I don't need the phone book, and you erased the traffic logs when you tried to access them without punching in my security code first._

"Driver's licenses – two of em, different names; her hair's different on the second one. Pack of credit cards an inch thick, but they're in four different names." He riffled through them. "Huh. The first names are all just initials; can't tell if they're a man's or a woman's. And a Black Card. Shit."

"A what?"

"Special credit card. Gotta be a millionaire to get one. Big wad of cash, too, maybe ten grand. A little bit of makeup, a sewing kit, one of those twelve-tools-in-one things, a photo wallet like grannies keep pictures of all the rugrats in … And look at this." He held up a plastic case the size of a paperback. She heard a click as he opened it; Ace's body hid it from her view, but she knew what they were seeing: it contained a number of small brushes, including two on long folding handles, and a small bottle of light oily fluid. "Tell me what the hell _this_ looks like."

"It ain't for cleanin her sewing machine." Ace examined the two bore-cleaning brushes. "Look at the size of these suckers. The small one looks like it's for a forty-five, but the _big _one … Christ, what caliber do elephant guns come in? Is it for a shotgun, maybe? What the hell is she doin with this?"

"Dunno; she ever pulled the trigger on something like that, it'd knock her on her ass."

"Go see if she's got a gun under the seat." Ace turned to Bennie, and discovered his partner hadn't been listening; he'd been totally focused on removing the rest of her clothing, and had just finished up. The process had been quick, with only one departure from the businesslike method Ace had demanded: when he had rolled her over to remove her bra, her last article of clothing, he had briefly caressed her buttocks, cupping one in his palm as if measuring it.

Now he stood over her; she kept her eyes closed, but the pheromones seemed to be thickening the air, they way they were pouring out of the man. Softly, as if to himself, he said, "Man, this is _so _fine. This is _quality._"

"What are you talkin about? I seen Girl Scouts with bigger tits. If she was _my_ bitch, I'd send her to a surgeon."

"Fun bags from Jugs-R-Us would just ruin this." He brushed his fingertips along her lips. "Look at her … not a pockmark, or a scar, or a needle track. Flawless skin, smooth and soft as a baby's, not a stray hair or blemish anywhere." His fingers traced a line down her neck to the collarbone, down the center of her chest, dipped momentarily into her navel before coming to rest on a spot low on her belly. "One look at her, you know she was a daddy's girl when she was little; and before she quit playin with dolls, she knew she was meant to be some man's prize. Probably went to a fancy finishing school and got a degree in interior decorating; cookin classes too. Bet she keeps that house spotless, even with a bunch of kids livin in it. And she spends eight hours a week in the gym, keepin that little ass nice and tight for the old man. Not that she has to work at it real hard; she was _born _to look this way, from her perfect eyebrows down to those faultless little toes. Ace, there's girls out in the gym right now, runnin the treadmill and hittin the workout machines till _hair_ sprouts on their upper lips, tryin to look like this." He ran three fingers through her pubic hair and lifted it gently. "Fine and silky as a little girl's. It's exactlythe same shade as her eyebrows, ya notice? And just two shades darker than what's on her head. Perfect shape; doesn't have to shave to wear a bikini. Fuck, it's even got a _part_, like she brushes it every day. As if each little hair was put in place by the hand of God."

_Well, by the hand of some technician on the prosthetic team at the Research Directorate, anyway. A man less caught up in his fantasies might be a little more suspicious._

Benny went on, "This ain't no hooker, or a ditzy hitchhiker, or some drunken bar bag you pick up at closing time - don't you _feel _it? This little filly's a thoroughbred, been pampered and groomed her whole life, secure and protected and sure of her place in the world. If we hadn't snatched her, she'd probably be bakin cookies right now, and thinking what she's gonna wear for ol' Jack when he gets home. We're gonna have to be real careful with this one; she ain't used to rough handling."

"What, you fallin in love or somethin, bro? Havin a change of heart, think maybe we should untie her and take back to her car, let her go home to her old man?" His tone of voice made it clear he didn't believe a word of it.

"Oh, _hell_, no. We just hit the _lottery_." His hand moved in slow circles on her belly, between navel and pubic hair. "Bet she's never had to miss a meal or make an unpleasant decision or even had a moment's pain, unless maybe her manicurist slipped with the file. Makin a believer outta this one … I can't _wait _to get the party started. A chick like this won't have a _clue_. Mark my words, man: we're gonna remember this one the rest of our lives."

"We'll see. Let's get her ready for pictures."

A flash registered on her eyelids. _Good thing my eyes weren't open; a camera might have caught it. _She resolved to keep them closed.

"Pick up her ass, while I slide this under." Hands slid under her bare behind. _Bennie's hands, unmistakably; the letch has been pawing me so much, I can recognize them by the calluses. _Some sort of bikini bottom was drawn between her legs; strings at the hips were tied, securing it. She smelled leather. "Okay, now sit her up and lift her arms." Her arms went into something sleeveless, also leather, mostly bare in back and open in front, ending at the bottom of her rib cage; they laid her back on the bed and began to close the front of the garment, somewhat, with three attached straps. She felt the ends of some sort of quick-release buckles click together, then the straps were drawn tight. "Give the top one an extra tug, Ace. Push those little puppies right up." When they finished, the outfit, tight as a corset, was still wide open for four inches down the center.

"Got it. Now, she needs a little jewelry." She felt a handcuff snap around her wrist, then her arm was pulled up to the corner of the headboard; she heard the other end being secured high on the bedpost. Her other wrist was shackled to the opposite post, spreading her arms in a wide Y. When Bennie cuffed her ankles and tugged the chain, he cursed.

"What is it?"

"She's too frickin short. The cuffs don't reach." She felt him begin to unfasten a wrist restraint at the bedpost.

"Sure they do." One at a time, her ankles were pulled roughly towards the footboard corners, turning the Y into an X. The chains went taut as they were secured to the posts a foot above the mattress._ A stupid way to treat someone still unconscious from anesthetic. If I had lungs, they'd be awfully constricted by this leather jacket already; with my arms stretched over my head like this, they're risking respiratory arrest._

"Jeez, this ain't no good."

"They're on, ain't they?"

"She looks like she died on the rack."

"Should take a good picture, then. Do it."

Several flashes, then Bennie said, "Okay. Lemme go stick the card in the printer, and we'll see what we got." She heard him turn for the door.

"Bennie."

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"You two done good, settin this all up. Everything's goin according to plan. I'm just beat from the drive, that's all. Christ, I thought drivin to the Poconos or Miami was a trip. Woulda flown, but I didn't wanna risk takin our baggage through."

"Yeah." Bennie huffed. "You know, three days ago, when you sent us out here, I thought somebody'd been jerkin your chain. I mean, twenty years without a clue, and somebody drops him in your lap? We went to the address you gave us, and it was like a friggin _sorority _house, chickies poppin in and out."

"I told you to look for that."

"Yeah, but I still couldn't believe Lynch was really livin there. Then, when he _did _show, I almost didn't recognize him. Face is all scarred up, looks like he lost an eye." Sour amusement tinged the man's voice. "Wouldn't want to meet the fucker did that. Still built like a fuckin drill instructor, though. And got all his hair."

"And the fucker's still got a harem."

"Or a stable; there's two punks livin there, too. Either way, he must be _loaded_." Bennie left. With the camera gone, she resumed sneak-peeking.

Chucky returned. "No gun. I even checked underneath. Spare tire well, everything." He looked at their captive. "Black's not her color. She looks dead."

"Jeezus, will you guys shut up about that? I just got pissed. I didn't wanna hear her give a blow-by-blow of Lynch doin the nasty with her; I just wanted her to shut up. She'll be fine, she just won't wake up for a while, okay?"

"Sure." He gave Ace a very direct look. "Saw Bennie comin outta here with that look. The outfit's not really just for show, is it?"

"Neither's the kid, Chucky." Ace glanced her way. "You know what he did. What better way to even the score?"

"Uh huh. You're callin the shots, Ace. But she's no good to us dead. Don't lose track of what you came here for."

"Don't worry, we'll _all_ get what we came for, and maybe a little bonus. Where's the kid?"

"Baggin up all the trash; this place is startin to smell like old grease. I'm gettin tired of burgers and pizza, man. A real meal would sure be nice."

"Just wait and see how this plays out. We could be on our way home by tomorrow. I don't wanna show our faces at some restaurant – or are you talking about actually _cookin_ something?"

"Well … What's in Little Red Ridin Hood's grocery sack?"

"Hell, I don't know. Anybody bring it in?"

"Must've, it's not in the car."

Bennie called from the kitchen. "Pictures are comin off the printer."

Alone for the first time, she opened her eyes and studied her situation. The shackles on her limbs were sturdy enough, though definitely not police equipment; bought at some adult novelty shop, no doubt, along with this one-size-fits-all outfit. _Some matching boots, black lipstick and a dog collar, and I'm ready to hit the Goth clubs. Oops, better include a skirt. This bottom … _She squirmed slightly. _Well, of course it's a thong: what else would these overgrown adolescents pick out for their female captive? Be thankful it's not crotchless._

She could hear their voices in the kitchen, as plainly as if they were in the bedroom; if she had reason, she was sure she could do so anywhere in the house.

"Bennie, you bring in that sack from the grocer's?"

"Kid followed us in with it when he shut the doors. It's all put away."

"What was in it?" Asked Chucky.

"Holy shit," said Ace, "she looks even worse in the pictures. Fuck, she looks _embalmed_. Her old man will piss himself when he sees these. Okay, wrap em up in her clothes and leave it all on the front seat. Take this heap back to the lot, wipe down everything you touched, and pick up the rental. Then shag ass back here -"

"This ain't the first time I done this, you know. And I might _shag ass_ to the store to pick up some real food on the way back. What was in the _bag_?"

"Ask the _kid_, I didn't put it away." She heard Chucky's heavy footsteps retreating towards the side door.

"Before you start singin hosannas to this little bitch again, take a look at what she packs out of the house every day." She heard the contents of her purse being dumped on the kitchen table.

Presently, Bennie said, "It looks like she's ready to bolt at the sound of a twig snappin. But what's this?"

"Dunno; no gun anywhere. So, she's thinking about runnin out on him?"

"Maybe. But, if your wife had a purse like this, one she carried all the time, wouldn't you know it? I think he _sends_ her out of the house this way. But she never saw us comin, so who _is_ she lookin over her shoulder for?"

"Well, maybe we'll find out when she wakes up, after she makes her phone call to the old man. Till then, don't answer it if it rings."

"Look at the photo album yet?"

"Yeah. Made my day, seein what a train wreck the sonofabitch turned into."

"Uh huh. What about the _pussy_? Too bad we couldn'a just walked into the house and set up shop. Lay the two punks in the basement and let Lynch watch us play with _all_ his toys. Think Billy would give us an extra week?"

"What you been smoking? Give some mook two weeks runnin our operation, we'll have to shoot him to get it back. Bennie … _tell _me that ain't her_ panties _stickin outta your pocket!"

"Aw, come _on_, Ace."

"That fuckin collection is gonna get you in deep shit someday. Those were supposed to go with Chucky."

"He left with everything else. Hell, let em _wonder_ where they're at. Listen," Bennie said, his voice low and soothing. "I know how big a stake you got in this, but you're wound _way _too tight over it. Relax, everything's goin fine. This could end up bein our best 'hunting trip' ever." She heard a drawer open. "No TV, but I got a deck of cards. Let's just kick back a while till something happens. Let the wheels turn."

"Somebody needs to be in there, in case she wakes up before Chucky gets back."

"Not much chance of that; she's still limp as a rag doll. Send the kid in to watch. Do you both some good to keep him out of sight." The cards _rracked _as Bennie shuffled. "Hey, kid! Come on in here."

"What are you talkin about?"

"You make him jumpy, Ace. He sees you look at him like you'd just as soon kill him. And lookin at him is makin_ you _jumpy. That's no way to act around your nephew. Send him outta harm's way, for a while."

Ace growled, "Little bastard's no kin of _mine_." Quickly he regained his composure. "Yeah, get him the hell outta here."

She considered her opportunities. Despite their bickering, the three older men were a solid team; not much chance of dividing them over anything of substance. The boy, however, offered possibilities: inexperience and apparent alienation from the others might leave him open to handling.

The door opened, and Bennie entered, followed by the boy.

"Yeah, she's all right. She just got a little too much Uncle Ben's Medicine, is all. You keep an eye on her; once she's conscious, we're gonna have a little conversation, and then she's gonna make a phone call to her old man. We collect what he owes, and we're on our way home."

"Why is she … all like that?"

"You mean the costume? Or the handcuffs? When she wakes up, she's gonna be _scared._ When he sees the pictures of her like this, and she calls him all panicky, he won't be in a mood to argue about payin up."

"So, we're not really going to hurt her." The relief in his voice was plain, even without her enhancements.

The uncle chuckled. "Well, I didn't say _that. _We're not bluffin, kid. We might have to show the old man we're willin to take penalties and interest out of his little squeeze here." They stood at the bedside, looking down at her. "If you lost something this fine, what would _you _pay to get it back, heh?" His hand traveled down her inner thigh, rolled around to caress the back of her knee, and then cupped her calf. "Smooth as glass. Musta shaved these just this morning. Or maybe she waxes."

Bennie left, and, through closed eyelids, she focused all her attention on the boy. Heart and respiration were normal, and pheromones in the air were dropping now that Bennie was gone; but he hadn't moved, apparently still staring at her.

_Well, why not? You're easy enough on the eyes. This must be like sneaking a peek at his dad's girlie magazines._ He exhaled softly as he bent over the bed. _Okay, here we go. What's he up to; teenage hormones got the best of him? Is he about to get handsy?_ The sheet slid up to her collarbone and was tucked in around her.

_Well, well. A gentleman. But is he protecting his modesty or mine? And why is he sitting down on the bed? Well, duh: there aren't any chairs in this room; it's either the bed or sit on the floor._

She waited fifteen minutes, and then coughed softly to get his attention. _Raise the curtain, it's show time. _Half opening her eyes, she said mushily, her voice barely above a whisper, "Why'd you guys pick a hideout next door to… construction site?"

"Huh?"

"Pile drivers. The whole house's shaking." She blinked and opened her eyes somewhat. "It's in my head, isn't it? Ow ow ow. The pain just caught up with th' thump." She moved as if to touch her head, and was immediately brought up short by the shackles. She looked up at them without moving her head. "Oh, this can't be good."

He got up and moved towards the door.

"Where you going, Speedy?"

"I'm supposed to tell somebody when you're conscious."

"You call _this _conscious? Room won't hold still. I can't focus my eyes. How about a couple minutes? Give a girl a break, can't you?"

He hesitated, so she turned her head, retching weakly. It was almost comical, watching his eyes jump around the bare room, looking for something for her to vomit into - until he rushed to the bed and cupped his hands under her mouth. She subsided.

"Uhh. Uhh. Oh, I am _so_ glad I missed lunch." She squinted at him. "You were really going to let me puke into your bare hands?"

"I can wash my hands. Tied up like that, you'd have had to lie in it."

_Gallantry and sympathy, _she thought._ Yes, definite possibilities._ "Thanks." She made a show of looking around, until the wisp of black fabric on her shoulder caught her attention. She stared down at herself, trying to discern details under the sheet. "What am I _wearing_?"

"I don't know what it's called, but there's not much of it. I covered you up; you _had _to be cold."

"Oh. Thanks again." This time she added a small, brief smile. "What's your name, gallant knight?"

"Luis."

"Considering the circumstances, I can't say I'm glad to meet you, but I'm glad you're here. I answer to Anna, Annie, or Anne, take your pick."

He lifted an eyebrow. "What's the other one?"

"What other one?"

"The one you _don't _answer to."

"Oh." _He wants to share secrets … give him something, and we're conspirators already. _She frowned and said, in a low voice, "Annalise."

"Annalise … that's really pretty. Why don't you use it?"

"Are you kidding? It's a name for a fairy princess."

"Yes." He smiled into her eyes. "It suits you."

_Pheromone count in the room is still dropping, but are they still all Bennie's? Probably. He's not really flirting; he's trying to lift your spirits. _She remembered the sheet._ Girls, this one's a keeper._

_But how to respond? Don't flirt with him; totally inappropriate for a bound prisoner. He's not stupid. He'd get suspicious and you'll lose him. Try embarrassment; that's usually endearing._

She looked disgusted. "Great, now there's two of you. I've got a girlfriend who calls me Tinkerbelle. She's great most other ways, so I let her live."_ And I'm sure she wouldn't mind loaning me her name._

"Okay, I'll call you Anne. But I'll be _thinking_ 'Annalise' every time I say it."

"I can live with that." She winced. "Feeling a little better, but I'd really rather face the big guys with a clear head, if I can. Can we just, like, chat for a little while?" When he frowned, considering, she added, "If the door opens, I'll pretend to be asleep. I won't let you get in any trouble, Luis. I promise." She tugged at her shackles, giving him a solemn look. "I really don't feel like a party right now."

"Anne, I don't know how long they'll wait. They really want to talk to your husband."

"What do they want with us, Luis? Who are they?"

"Well, they're my uncles, and I guess you'd say they're mobsters. Although, that's kind of like saying that the guy who runs a gas station's working for Exxon. I don't know much about it, but they say your husband ran out on a debt, and they've come to collect. It was a long time ago; I don't think they knew where you were till now."

_Just what I was afraid of: we left tracks when we moved, or else there's a security breach at our new location. If these mooks could find us, how can IO not?_

"Hey, don't look so worried. It'll all work out, really. I know this has got to be scary, but my uncles just want to make sure your husband doesn't run out again. They'll come to some arrangement, and everything'll be fine."

"Luis, Jack doesn't run out on his obligations. And I'm having a hard time imagining him ever going to your uncles for help."

"Like I said, it was a long time ago; twenty years, I think. They've been stewing over it the whole time, my Uncle Ace especially." He leaned close. "He really, really hates your husband."

_Didn't take him long to run out of cheerful things to say. _"I know I only just met him, and first impressions can be deceptive." She arched her back and craned her neck upwards to look at her wrist shackles, and gave them a tug. "But I don't think your uncle's a very nice man." She settled back down. "What are _you _doing here, Luis? You don't really seem to be part of this. Are you just here to clean up?"

"I'm not sure how much I should say."

"Then don't say anything, forget I asked. Change of subject. Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

"Two brothers, one sister, all older. You?"

She put on a somber face. "I was born second of a set of quintuplets, would you believe? All girls. I'm the only one that lived."

"Wow. Sorry, Anne."

"Well, it's not like I remember them, you know? But I wonder, sometimes, what it would have been like." _The best lies have a bit of truth, isn't that what Jack says?_

"That must have crushed your mom."

"She died during the delivery. It was just Dad and me. He tried, but he wasn't up to raising a girl on his own, and he never remarried. He's dead now." The boy was silent, scarcely breathing. "Jack and his kids, they're all the family I've got."

"Yeah? How many kids?"

"Two boys, three girls, all gorgeous."

"Uh huh."

"That's not mother's pride talking; ask anyone who's ever seen them. Let me tell you about Caitlin …"

She went to work. No one watching them would have thought he was witnessing an interrogation. She did most of the talking, in the beginning at least, and the subjects she covered were mundane: family, friends, school, music, hobbies. But the boy's body language and biometrics were eloquent. As she flitted from one subject to another, he sent subconscious messages telling her which subjects were safe to press on, which weren't, which might yield up secrets. Behind the informal chat, a machine intellect evaluated statements, drew conclusions, and tested assumptions, trolling for useful information in casual remarks, an implied statement, or a question that told more than it asked.

" … Bobby _loves_ the Crotch Rockets; I think they're his favorite band right now. Seems like every boy his age is humming their tunes."

"How old is he?"

"He'll be nineteen next birthday. How about you, Luis?"

"Eighteen in a week and a half. What about _you_, Anne? You seem awful young to have a husband my uncle's age."

"Luis, you _never _ask a female past puberty how old she is; if you can't help asking, expect her to lie. Still want to know?"

"More than ever."

"I'm twenty-five." She grinned. "Honest."

As Luis warmed to the exchange, he began speaking more freely, dropping dots of information that were carefully connected by her intelligence-gathering subroutine. Gradually, a picture emerged.

Luis's uncles, and Luis himself, were members of one of the last of the old East Coast crime families, the Bennettis. The outfit had long since evolved from its origins as a gambling-and-prostitution monopoly, run by a single extended family, into one resembling the Russian model, which provided, in addition to its numerous criminal enterprises, social services to legitimate customers in exchange for "fees." Gradually, the Family became the Organization, or, in its public-service guise, the Association. If you wanted a pothole on your street moved to the top of the city's to-do list, and your dues were paid, just see your neighborhood wiseguy. Kids from out of the neighborhood spray painting graffiti on your storefront? The Association would get it cleaned up and it would _never _happen again.

Local authorities held an uneasy truce with the outfit; law enforcement generally left Association neighborhoods alone, which was generally how the neighbors preferred it. The Association provided the neighborhood foot patrols that the police had abandoned decades before, and dispensed swift judgment that never returned repeat offenders to the street; random, _un_organized crime averaged a lot lower in areas where the Association still operated. So long as the Organization's illegal activities were kept within limits, the occasional bribe was sufficient to assure the outfit a free hand in its own neighborhoods.

Feds were another matter. The Organization dealt with agencies ranging from the National Security Agency, through their influence over port operations, to the Environmental Protection Agency, arguing with thin-lipped bureaucrats about landfill contracts for their garbage-hauling business, and a dozen others. In Luis's world view, they formed a sort of Greek pantheon: entities powerful but not omnipotent, capricious, malign and often dangerous, jealous over their prerogatives. Federal law enforcement and RICO were twin thunderbolts that had struck down numerous relatives.

"Doesn't that scare you off joining up?" She asked.

He seemed to consider. Their faces were only a foot apart. The boy had given up perching on the edge of the bed and talking to her over his shoulder; he lay on his side facing her, with his knees bent and shoes hanging off the bed, their bodies separated by the sheet and two inches of space. His head was in his hand, propped on his elbow, looking down at her; her shackled arm was under his. _Cozy. Just like pillow talk with Jack, except I'm with the wrong guy, in the wrong bed, and definitely in the wrong nightie. And, oh, yes, the chains._

"Anne, it's not like that. I was a member the day I was born, just from being in the Family. There aren't a lot of head-knocking jobs left; shoot, my dad works for them part-time, filling out insurance claims and running a tax service for the middle-level guys. That's how he pays them back for putting him through school. But even if they never call you, you know you're in the organization till the day you die. When Uncle Chuck showed up to get me, it was like I'd got drafted into the Army: no arguments, no questions about where I'm going or why me … just pack a bag quick and 'be careful, mind your uncle, keep your mouth shut, come back safe.' It was _unreal_." He looked at his watch. "Wow. You know, we've been talking for over an _hour_."

_One hour, sixteen minutes. _"Really?"

"This is so weird. I only know you for an hour, and I'm talking about stuff I never told a _girlfriend._"

She smiled enough to show dimples. "They say I'm a really easy person to talk to. I can't say 'good morning' in an elevator without starting a conversation; sometimes we'll even skip getting off and ride back down, still talking."

Abruptly, he rolled away and sat up on the edge of the bed, facing away from her.

"Luis?" No reply. "Luis … what are you doing here? Why did they bring you along? What do they want you to do?"

Looking down at the floor, he said quietly, "Someone decided I'm going to be a soldier. Probably my Uncle Chuck. I think I'm here to make my bones."

"Do what?" She could have admitted that she knew the term, but felt it would be out of character.

"The Family does a lot of dirty stuff that brings in money for us. Soldiers are the guys who make it work. At the bottom of the ladder, soldiers guard the chop shops and gambling joints, stuff like that. You do okay, you move up into bigger jobs, like strong-arm work, squeezing for collections, 'protection' – keeping rival gangs and other competition out. Kidnapping for ransom isn't done, but sometimes they do it for leverage. It's usually a specialist's job, way up near the top, just below doing hits. Guess my uncles are giving me a leg up." He paused, for so long that she thought he might not continue.

"But soldiers have to be able to trust one another. Not just because they share danger, but because they're … witnesses to one another's crimes. You can't be trusted until you've committed a crime in front of witnesses. And if you're going to be trusted by somebody with a rap sheet like my uncles', it'd have to be a beaut." He paused again; she could hear his heart thudding in his chest.

"I should never have talked to you. I should have got Uncle Bennie as soon as you woke up, even if your hair was full of puke when we came back. I shouldn't have covered you with this sheet. I should never have _looked _at you until you woke up. For all I know, our little friendship is going to end with Uncle Ace sending me into the back yard to dig a hole for you. If I'm real lucky, he won't expect me to put you _in_ it."

"Not going to happen, Luis. I-" She whipped her head to the side and closed her eyes as the door opened. She smelled cigarette smoke; Chucky was back.

"What the hell is goin on? What are you doin over there?"

_And I thought Luis's heart was revved up _before. "Nothing."

"Don't shit me. I heard voices." He took a step towards the boy.

Without opening her eyes, she spoke, her voice soft but clear. "You shouldn't smoke, it's bad for you."

Chuck and Luis both stopped breathing.

Then: "Where does a girl your age get cigarettes? Never mind, just keep it out of the house. Yech, you've got ashes on your jacket." She made her shackled hands twitch feebly. "Better. Beau'ful ag'n. don' f'get … sis's picking you up after school." She mumbled incoherently, and then fell silent.

"How long's she been doin that?"

Luis swallowed loud enough for her to hear. "She does it for a while, then she goes back to sleep. I keep thinking she's awake, but when I talk to her, she just babbles something like that."

A long pause; Chucky's heart skipped a beat, and then began to pick up speed. "My mom did that, just before she croaked. Lookin right over your shoulder, talkin to people been dead for years." He turned to the door. "I'll be right back."

She opened her eyes, to see Luis staring at her. "Jeez. Are you an actress?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

She smiled briefly. "No, but I _am _a desperate housewife," she whispered back, and then closed her eyes.

The brothers returned, all three of them. Ace approached the bed. "What are you, queer?" He yanked the sheet down to the foot of the mattress.

"She was cold."

"She was cold. Maybe if she wasn't so warm and comfy, she'd be awake by now."

Bennie felt her wrist. "Pulse is almost back up to normal; looks like she'll be okay."

"She was talkin, movin around in her sleep." Chucky sounded thoroughly spooked.

Bennie glanced at Ace. "Well, she's done _that_ before, right? What time is it?"

"Just after five."

"Man. We picked her up around noon; that's a long time to be out. That second dose … she musta been hearin harp music."

She slitted her eyes. After a couple of soft coughs, she said, "Doctors don't use it on people anymore … too risky. Sometimes the patient doesn't wake up, or wakes up missing fifty points off his IQ. I feel kind of slow. Do I sound stupid?" She tugged at her shackles. "Maybe more like a frog … in biology class."

"How long you been awake? Tell the truth." Ace pointed his chin at the balled up sheet, as if to say _I told you._

"Been drifting in and out, I think. Weird dreams. Did you guys really drop me on the floor? Twice." She looked down at herself. "Why am I dressed up like a pole dancer?" She peered at their faces in the dim light. "If you're Devil worshippers, or something like that, you picked the wrong girl for a virgin sacrifice."

Bennie chuckled; Ace glowered. "Maybe that shit _did_ make you stupid. If you had any brains, you'd be scared."

"I don't know. I was scared before. Maybe I'll be scared later. What _do_ you want with me?"

He showed her her phone. "How do you turn on the loudspeaker?"

"It's the button on the left. Hold it down for three seconds with the cover closed. And you have to punch in ten-ten when you open it, or it won't work."

"Done. Home phone?" She gave him the number, and he punched it in. He held the phone six inches from her ear. "Tell your old man what happened, and the fix you're in right now."

The phone began to ring. "He's not home right now."

He flipped the phone shut. "Okay, what's his cell number?"

"He's not at that phone, either."

His face began to glow in infrared, she noticed. _Don't stroke out on me, Ace; I still need you. _"And _why_ ain't he carryin his cell?"

"Because it's useless. He's in La Paz."

"Well, where the _fuck _is La Paz? Mexico?"

Luis answered. "Bolivia." He added, "South America."

She shrugged, insofar as her bonds would allow. "Or he could be in Jakarta by now, but he usually calls if he doesn't come home first."

"Jakarta …" He looked at Luis.

Luis said, helpfully, "Capital of Indonesia, western Pacific."

Ace was shaking. "I wait twenty years to get hold of this asshole, and now you're tryin to tell me he's halfway across the _world_?"

"He's not supposed to be back all weekend; I guess you could let me go, and kidnap me again on Monday ..."

From a sheath on his belt, Ace pulled out a knife with a four-inch blade; he brought it up to her face until it was an inch from her eye. "Do … not … fuck with me."

_Give it a glance; no matter how brave you're trying to be, it would be unnatural not to. _She did, and then locked eyes with him. "He travels all over the world on business; he's gone twenty days a month. If you'd cased our house for a week, you'd know that."

_And if you'd tried to case our house for a week, no matter how carefully, I'd have spotted you. Don't lose it, Ace; if you try to put that knife in me, the masquerade is over, and I'll have to try beating the information out of you. Frankly, I don't think your heart will take it; I can hear how hard it's working already. Then I'll go to work on your brothers._

_I'll save Luis for last; I'm almost certain he doesn't know anything, but how could I take the chance? I really wish he didn't remind me of Bobby._

"He's gone twenty days a month, and you can't reach him? What kind of shit is that?"

"He'll call home at least once this weekend, but I don't know when. He calls when he can; I don't distract him when he's working."

"Well, ain't _you_ the dutiful little wife?" he held the phone to her ear again; it was already ringing. "Talk to one of the kiddies. Make sure Daddy knows to call your cell."

After three rings, the phone picked up. "_Hey, Mom, where are you? Running late?_" It was Bobby, sounding casual and unworried; she wasn't late enough for a nineteen-year-old's concern, apparently. She could hear Caitlin's voice in the next room.

"Bobby, don't say anything, hon, just listen. I have two things to tell you, so listen carefully. First, you're on your own for dinner, I won't be home tonight. There's a casserole in the freezer, the one with the red top. Take off the plastic lid -"

Ace pulled the phone away. "What the hell is this about? Just tell him to have your old man call here."

"I've got obligations, Ace." She locked eyes with him, matching his glare with a level stare. "If you want my cooperation, you let me feed my kids."

He hesitated, then brought the phone back to her.

"Sorry about that. Okay, back to the casserole."

"_Who was that? Are you okay?_"

"I'm fine. Stay on _task_, Bobby; it's important."

A pause, then, "_Okay. Freezer, casserole, red top_."

_He's got the message. Good. Otherwise, I'd have to insist he put Caitlin on the line, and Ace isn't feeling too patient right now. _"Right. Pop the plastic top, but leave the foil underneath alone. Bake at three seventy-five for forty minutes, then take off the foil and put it back in for another twenty. Repeat it all back."

"_Casserole in the freezer with the red plastic top, which I take off. Bake it at three seventy-five for forty with just the foil under the plastic lid, then without the foil for twenty more_."

"Good." _He's listening carefully, and rephrased it to show he's thinking about what I say._ "Here's the other thing. Bobby, I know your father can't be reached right now, but he'll probably call from La Paz tonight or tomorrow morning. When he does, have him call this number. It's very important."

Ace pulled the phone away. "One more thing. Have him pick up your car. It's back in the lot."

"My car's at the grocery. Take Eddie or Caitlin with you to pick it up, will you?"

"_Sure, but what's going on?_"

"I'll explain it later, when I get home."

Ace's eyes glinted. "Your clothes are on the front seat, wrapped around some pictures we took while you were nappin." He grinned.

Quickly, she added, "Bobby, hon? There's a bundle of old clothes on the front seat." For Ace's sake, she let a little panic creep into her voice. "Do _not _open that bundle, that's for your father. Just put it in his office. Take Eddie, no one else."

"_Okay, will do. Call you later_." Concern edged his voice.

"No, don't. I don't have a charger for the phone, and I need to save the battery for your father's call."

"_Call collect from a pay phone, then_."

She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, baby, I can't. Love you. Bye."

Ace ended the call. "'Baby'," he said, seeming to savor the sound. "Sounds like Bobby and his step mom are pretty tight … for twenty days a month, anyway. Does he call you 'Mom' when you're alone?"

She said tiredly, "His mother died when he was a baby; he grew up without one. I'm the closest thing to a real mom he's ever known, my age means nothing to him, and he treats me like gold." Her eyes were still closed. "You know, I don't think that stuff has worn off yet; I feel like I'm going down for the count." _Let's engage the tracking system; I'm not quite in range for direct tracking, but the sat system will show everybody's location within two meters. Cue on Bobby's transponder … why, the darling really _is_ going to the kitchen. Well, he said he would, and never mind that he didn't say, 'I promise.'_

"Aww, she's gonna pout," said Bennie. "Maybe somebody should cheer her up."

She opened her eyes. "If you want to cheer me up," she said, "let me fix dinner."

Ace narrowed his eyes. "Say _what_?"

"I assume my bag of groceries didn't go back home in the car?"

"Yeah, we got it."

"Well, then, you're in luck: we have all the trimmings for dinner at home, and Friday is Macho Meal Night."

"What the hell is that?"

"The night the guys pick the menu. Monday is Fem Fare, Friday is Macho Meals, Sunday is Jack's – when he's home. All the other nights are mine. There are four ten-dollar steaks in that bag; potatoes, frozen corn, mushrooms, a nice Vidalia onion, butter and rye bread-"

"Wait a minute. Are you offerin to _cook_ for us?"

She smiled. "Didn't I just say so?"

"I don't fuckin believe it."

"Why not? I'm a _good_ cook. You ever had pan-fried steak? With caramelized onions and mushrooms? You'll never grill one again."

Ace looked at Luis; the boy shrugged. "It's like she says: it was all fresh food, no cans or stuff like that."

She wrinkled her nose. "I should say _not_. Canned food is only fit for fallout shelters." She looked at them in turn. "Come on, guys. You've been eating out of boxes and bags the whole time you've been here; I can _smell _the grease on you. Give yourselves a break."

"So, all we gotta do is take the chains off, and you become our little domestic partner? I don't think so."

"Ace, you _can't _be this worried I'll get away, past three guys twice my size - excuse me, four guys. If you're that nervous about it, a pair of these around my ankles would keep me from running; even the big fella with the wheeze could keep me from bolting out the door."

"What's in it for _you_?"

"Besides getting the circulation back in my hands? Getting vertical might do something for this _beast _of a headache I've got from the sedative."

"And?"

_And I have a sudden urge to cook a meal for Luis, the meal Bobby won't get now. I want to see Luis take a bite, and smile as he chews; see him push his chair back at the end of it and put his hands behind his head, satisfied. If I can have that, it'll more than make up for the twenty times Bennie will have his hands on my bare buttocks while I'm cooking._

She smiled at him. "It's entertaining, watching males feed on caveman food. I get a kick out of Macho Meal Night."_Bennie looks halfway convinced; time to sweeten the deal. _"It'd be nice to have something to throw around my waist, though, so I'm not feeling the breeze on my behind the whole time I'm bent over the stove." She looked at Bennie. "Not that I'd expect it."

Ace looked at his brother. "Are you _nuts_? A kitchen is a fuckin _arsenal _for a pissed-off woman."

_My fingernails are made from a polymer that's as tough as synthetic diamond; with my bare hands, I could turn you into stew meat in less time than it takes to say it._ "Ace? If you're _that _worried about me disarming the three of you with a carving knife, I've got a suggestion. I'm sure you know more about this than I do," she said sweetly, "but, on television, I've seen prisoners led into the courtroom in shackles. One of these things could go on my ankles; another, I'm sure, would fit around my waist like a belt. Tether my wrists to it with the last two." She looked at him, eyes challenging. "Then you could feel safe. Not that you guys are in any more danger from me in the kitchen than right here."

Ace gathered his brothers by eye. "Let's talk this over." They left for the kitchen.

Luis, last, paused at the door. "Thanks. For what you did with Uncle Chuck."

"I promised, remember?" She took a deep breath. "Tired. If they decide to keep me chained up, don't wake me up to tell me." She closed her eyes and adjusted her breathing. A few moments later, she offered the boy a sleepy smile as he drew the sheet up to cover her. "Luis? Don' worry. Do what they tell you, stay on … good side. It'll a' work out." She studied her tracking data as she pretended to sleep.

Bobby left the kitchen and joined up with Eddie in the living room, their transponders so close together that they showed as a single point in her awareness. A quick check located the other members of her family: Caitlin and Roxanne, also in the living room, but at the other end of that huge space; Sarah, out of the house and traveling at a moderate vehicle speed towards some unknown destination, and Jack in his study at the other end of the house, pretty much where she'd hoped he'd be.

The boys were heading down the hall to the study. When they reached it, the transponders of all three merged for a few minutes, presumably as Bobby described her call. Then, the boys left the house and went to the garage; Jack's blip entered the living room, paused for a moment, and left for the garage as well. _The girls aren't coming along, thank goodness; I wonder what he told them?_

Their blips merged, and began moving together down the driveway, along with the transponder for the Jack's car. She followed their progress to the market, not ten minutes' drive. They reached the market's parking lot and stopped near the van. Their blips separated, moved a short distance, and then began slowly circling the van's transponder. _They've found the car; now they're looking it over before they open the door._

Jack entered the minivan. He stayed there, alone, for several minutes while the boys stood outside. Finally, the boys began to converge on the car, and Jack got out quickly. He moved away from both vehicles about ten meters, and then stopped. The boys pursued and joined him, their blips merging again. _Jack has the bundle, or at least the photographs. He's trying to keep the boys from seeing them. Bobby, will you take it on faith from your father, just this once?_ She watched the three points separate, converge, and separate again. _Arguing_. They converged again for several minutes. Then, Bobby entered the car they came in, Eddie got in her minivan, and they drove off, leaving Jack in the lot. He remained in place until both vehicles left the lot, then started towards the house. _He's walking home, giving himself some time to think… or maybe just cool off. The house is five miles away; that gives him about an hour to figure things out._

She could hear the brothers arguing in the next room, but gave it little attention. As soon as she had finished her proposal to them, she'd studied their body language, and already estimated her chances of being freed to cook at no better than thirty percent. Luis's support was a given, but his vote didn't count. Ace was against the idea on principle, but could be persuaded if both his brothers pressured him. Bennie was drooling at the prospect; he'd probably have a hard-on the entire meal, fantasizing about bending her over the kitchen table for dessert.

Chucky was the deal breaker. Although he'd been the first to complain about the lack of home cooking, a sea change had occurred in his attitude towards her since she'd 'awakened'; although he hadn't spoken to her, and hadn't given her more than a glance since he entered the room, his posture and watchfulness made her certain that she wouldn't get out of these chains if _he _had anything to say about it.

Inexplicably, he was _afraid_ of her.

_That warrants some examination; how did I raise his suspicions?_

Her phone rang.

Jack was still walking; Eddie was in the garage; Bobby was in the house, in the phone alcove.

_Keep arguing, fellas; maybe you won't hear it._

The voices in the next room stilled. She heard the door open, followed by Ace's heavy tread. She kept her eyes closed, apparently in deep sleep. Ace picked up. "Talk quick, Lynch, we're busy here." With his free hand, he grasped her head and shook it from side to side, to wake her.

The speaker was still on. Bobby said, "_You're the asshole who chained her up like a dog?_" The others entered the bedroom, silent.

Ace grinned at her. "You're burnin up the battery, kid. You got something to say?"

"_Listen, you soulless prick. You're headed straight to Hell, you know that? And if you hurt her, if you even make her cry, I'll make sure you get a preview of coming attractions_."

Her kidnapper lifted his eyebrows. "Ooh, now I'm _really _scared. Bobber, we're in the middle of a party here. Next time this phone rings, it better be your old man." He ended the call. "What's he think he's gonna do, stick me with his Boy Scout knife?"

_Since it's Bobby, I'm thinking he's probably going to stick you with a jet of air superheated past the temperature of molten steel. Sounds like a preview of Hell to me. _"I've never heard him talk like that, but I've never heard him say something he didn't mean, either. He's his father's son."

Ace's jaw clenched. "Uh huh. Well then, I better make sure you stay safe." He yanked the sheet off her, balled it up, and tossed it in the corner. "Leave it there," he said to Luis. He patted her hip. "Lotta dangerous shit in a kitchen; best keep you away from it." He smiled. "I got a sudden taste for a big steak, broiled in the oven." Ace left; Chucky followed, almost stepping on his brother's heels. Luis started to follow, and then hesitated when he noticed that Bennie wasn't moving.

"Hey, kid! Get your ass in here and lend a hand."

"Your master's voice," she said. "Better go, Luis."

"And shut the door," his uncle added. A moment later, he approached the bed. He stared down, locking eyes with her, then reached out, tentatively, and touched her arm, just inside the elbow. His fingers traced a path down her arm, lingering at her armpit, then down her leather-clad flank, and finally to the string of her bikini bottom. His fingers slowly worked at the bow knot. His eyes never left her face.

"Bennie, what is it with you?" She assumed a tone of mild annoyance. "A man your age shouldn't act like he's always got one hand on his crotch, rubbing himself."

"The way you're acting isn't exactly on the bubble either," he said, freeing the string. His fingers slid over her bare stomach, just below her navel, to the other string. "A _good_ girl like you ought to be struggling a little."

"If these chains were any tighter, I'd be lifting off the bed. I should try to squirm away, when I can't move more than a few inches? Or beg you to stop? Or maybe call for help? I have a feeling you'd get off on that, Bennie."

"Absolutely right. But it's still not natural." The other string came free; he folded the front of the garment down neatly on the bed, between her legs. Staring down at what lay revealed, he said, "You don't even trimit, do you? It _grows _that way. Perfectly even and symmetrical." He ran his fingers through her pubic hair. "You've got some very nice toys, little girl." His stroking became firmer, more insistent. A few minutes later, he stopped abruptly, clearly annoyed. "You one of those chicks has trouble?"

"What were you expecting, Bennie? I don't like you."

"Or maybe you're really a dyke?"

"Oh, please." She locked eyes with him again. "I'm a hetero female, with a twenty-year-old's appetite for sex. And I respond," she said slowly, "like a racehorse to its rider … if the right hand is holding the whip."

His breathing caught as he practically squirted pheromones into the air. She imagined him as an octopus in a cloud of ink.

"But there's only one man who can do that to me and he's not you. As far as I'm concerned, you're just a clumsy gynecologist." She broke eye contact and stared up at the ceiling. "Knock yourself out."

"I got you hot before," he said, sounding almost petulant.

"While I was sedated? I must have been dreaming of my husband. I can guarantee it won't happen while I'm conscious."

"If I had a week, I could make you get as juicy as a _peach_ when I snap my _fingers,_" he said harshly.

The door opened. "Uncle Ace wants some help with the oven."

He massaged her inner thigh. "We'll get back to this later."

As soon as he was through the door, the boy came to the bed and refastened her skimpy garment without looking down at his work. "He's a perv."

Unsmiling, she said, "With a capital P."

"Anne, you've got six people at home. Why only four steaks?"

_Smart, and a good listener. Girls, you have _got_ to meet this boy, if I don't kill him. _"Because they're _big _steaks; the larger cuts are better quality. But we don't all eat a lot of red meat; Caitlin's the only girl who can keep up with the boys at the dinner table. So the rest of us share the fourth one."

"Jeez, you haven't had a bite all _day_. I'll bring you something when it's done."

"Rather you didn't."

"Huh?"

"I'm not hungry. Really."

"Anne, you've got to eat."

"No, I don't. A healthy person can go for days without food, as long as they have water. I'm not eating a thing until I'm out of this rig."

"I don't think they'll be impressed by a hunger strike."

"Neither do I. That's not the idea."

"Well, how about some aspirin for the headache?"

"Would that come with a glass of water?"

"Sure, no trouble. I'll just get Uncle Ace to give up a couple aspirin, and I'll be right back."

"Wait. You have to get aspirin from him?"

"He's got a big bottle; eats them like candy."

"Never mind, then. Don't ask, you'll just get in trouble."

"Over a couple _aspirin_?"

"Ace is _not _going to let you feed me painkillers." She pulled at her wrist manacles. "Luis, do you really think they put these on me to keep me from getting away? I'm in a windowless cell, practically naked, with nothing I can use for a tool or a weapon; if they think I've got a chance of dodging past three armed guards to the door, wouldn't it be enough just to chain one wrist to the bed? Even if they felt the need to bind my wrists and ankles, they didn't have to do it like this. Look at this bed: you could fasten these cuffs to an upright near the center, and I'd have about a foot of slack; not much, but my hands wouldn't be tingling all the time, and my back and joints wouldn't be aching from the constant traction. Instead, they spread-eagled me with the chains stretched to their limit. Luis, this has nothing to do with keeping me safe, and everything to do with making me hurt, without even a sheet for comfort. _They're_ not offering me food." She shifted her hips. "So I'm not going to risk having to choose between soiling myself and begging them to let me up to use the bathroom."

"But, _why? _They don't even know you."

"Well, you could argue that they'd like me to sound all stressed out and hysterical when Jack calls; that they want him so upset for me, he'll do anything they say." She looked at him. "But I don't think that's the whole story. I think they're doing this to me ... for entertainment. To see if they can make me cry and beg. Don't be surprised if they forbid you to bring me food; and if they do, don't try to sneak any in. These guys are dangerous and _crazy_; don't cross them. Remember what your dad said. Just let this play out. Jack will get in touch, eventually, and settle with them, and that will be that."

"You have a lot of faith in Jack," he said skeptically.

"He's a man who inspires confidence; that's one reason he's rich."

Chucky stuck his head in the doorway. "Come on outta there, got a job for ya."

She turned her head to the big man. "Chuck? The offer still stands, if you guys haven't ruined the food."

Chuck entered the room, leaving the door open for Luis. Alone with her, he shuffled towards the bed, as if he were being pulled unwilling.

"Chuck, you have a problem with me, I don't know-"

"Shut up." He looked down at the sheet next to her head, avoiding eye contact. "Don't speak to me, unless I ask you a question. Don't call my name; don't let me hear you _use _my name when you're talking to someone else. If you do, I don't care what's goin on or who else is here, I'll put my fist in you." He turned away.

"Wait. Why-"

He whirled back and struck downward with savage force, driving his fist into her just above the navel. Although the angle was awkward, he was a big man, and he put the strength of his whole upper body into the blow. Held in place by her bonds and solidly backstopped by the stiff mattress, she felt his fist sink a respectable distance into her midsection. _He's probably hit someone like this a hundred times; hope he doesn't notice anything odd about the way I feel against his fist._

"Huhhh!" She bugged her eyes out, pretending to be unable to draw breath, mouth open, heaving with the effort to pull in air. He stood watching. _Waiting to see if I start breathing again. Might as well play this for all it's worth. _She summoned tears, and felt them stream down her face as she writhed. _Going to have to drink some water; I've got a feeling I might be expected to do a _lot _of crying soon._ After almost two minutes, she let her struggles become weaker and unfocused her eyes, as if about to black out. Then, with a raw gasp, she drew a breath, then another, then coughed and gasped again.

Ace stuck his head in the door. "What the hell!" He rushed in. "What's wrong with her?"

"She pissed me off. I hit her. Just knocked the wind out of her."

"You stupid fuck, how's she supposed to get it _back _when we got her drawin quarter breaths as it is?" He popped the three releases on the front of the garment; it fell away from her as she heaved. Chuck watched the entire performance, silent and impassive, then turned and walked out. She continued to pant for a while, and then subsided.

"Ace, your brother's a … _seriously_ disturbed man."

"Yeah, so am I. And you're one of the things that _seriously_ disturbs me."

"This is news?"

He drew the bustier back together and began to refasten the buckles, starting from the bottom up. When he reached for the third and uppermost, he noticed her eyes on him; he let it drop, unfastened.

"What's wrong, Ace?"

"Just occurred to me: why bother?"

"Maybe you're turning queer. Care to explain how I _seriously_ disturb you?" Breaking eye contact, she shifted her hips, as if trying to ease her back, nothing overtly seductive, but his eyes tracked the motion. _Careful; leave most of Sarah's tricks in the bag, for now._ "Is it a problem with girls in general? Or just the ones who sleep with Jack Lynch? Or a little of both?"

He stared down at her with an unreadable expression for ten seconds. Then, he abruptly turned and disappeared through the door. However, he returned moments later with a kitchen chair, which he set down next to the bed, and sat down facing her. "Since you're feelin chatty, let's play a little game; I call it 'Trading Secrets.' I ask you a question, you answer; you ask one, I answer. As soon as I think you're bullshittin me, the game's over – and I cinch up that last strap so tight, your eyes'll pop out. I'll go first: what kind of business is he in, that keeps him away from the wife and kiddies so much?"

"The same sort of business he was in when you knew him twenty years ago, Ace." _Only, you didn't really know him, apparently. _"He's a security consultant; also a contractor. He's the best there is, which is why he's in demand all over the world; also why he's so well-paid."

"And what does a 'security consultant' do for his money?"

"Is that a second question?"

"Don't get cute. Gimme an answer that _tells _me somethin."

"Okay. Anybody with a security concern about _anything_ comes to Jack: he's trained bodyguards, made nuke plants safe from terrorists, recruited mercenaries for brush wars. Does that give you a clearer picture?"

"Yeah. He's a spook. Ask your question."

"This debt Jack owes, supposedly. Is there a Family component to it, or is it entirely personal?"

He glared at her. "What do you know about the Family?"

"I watch a lot of crime shows on TV."

His jaw worked. "The Family closed the books on it a long time ago."

"That doesn't tell me much, Ace."

"It answers everything you asked. My turn. How'd you end up together? Not just you; I mean everybody we seen runnin in and out of that house."

"That's a lot of questions wrapped into one. Don't expect more than Cliff's Notes for an answer."

"Cliff's Notes?"

"Very short version, lots of details left out."

"Just make sure they ain't important details. Remember what I said about bullshit."

"Bobby's his son from a previous marriage. The other kids are the children of old service buddies of his, guys who died or went missing. He took them in. Two of the girls are sisters."

"Hmp. Very fuckin noble. How do they pay for room and board?"

"By getting good grades in school, Ace. Nothing else. Jack's just very loyal to his friends."

"What about you? How'd you end up with an old wreck like him?"

She gave him a cool stare. "That's my _man_ you're talking about, and he's the farthest thing from an 'old wreck' that I can imagine. I'm assuming you're not looking for a graphic description of our sex life. So what, exactly, _do_ you want to know about him?"

"Come on, the guy's probably older than your dad; he didn't meet you in a bar, or a frickin dating service. What could you possibly have in common, what brought you together?"

"Office romance, sort of. We used to work for the same firm. When he retired and went into business for himself, he … took me with him."

He leaned forward. "From an 'international security' firm, eh? Were you workin for him then, or was he just pokin you?"

"I think you're getting personal, Ace. I also think you're getting a lot of mileage out of your one question."

He sat back and grinned. "Ask."

"Jack did something that's been gnawing at you for twenty years; how come you're doing something about it _now_?"

The grin froze on his face. "Ask another one."

"How did you find us?"

"Try again."

"This game is rigged, Ace."

He shrugged with his eyebrows. "You get tired of playin, you can quit anytime. I won't even touch that third strap."

"The boy. This isn't Family business, so why is he here?" As the man's face clouded, she hurried on, "Come on. You don't like him, he's not here to get introduced to the business, and I'll bet your chain of command doesn't even know he's here. Why did you bring your _nephew_ to witness this? Third time, Ace – you playing or not?"

"He's … got a stake in this. That's all you get. My turn. Care to explain that purse of yours?"

She lifted a shoulder slightly, the best shrug she could manage. "You've got some idea where Jack and I used to work. Old habits die hard."

"So you weren't a secretary at this 'firm,' hey? You were a soldier?"

"When I met Jack, I was, cross my heart and hope to die, warehouse security. The old habits are Jack's, not mine. He wants me to be able to run like a rabbit if any old friends come calling." She shrugged in her bonds. "Obviously I've got no skill at that sort of thing."

"You know, I think I just caught a whiff of bullshit there. You didn't explain the cleaning kit, the one with those big-ass brushes."

"Short-barreled shotgun. It's the only gun I can hit anything with. I usually keep it under the seat, but it's at the shop, getting a lighter stock."

He thought it over. "Shotgun, okay. Thought that might be it."

"My turn." She pulled on her wrist manacles and rolled her hips again, arching her back with a tiny exhalation that was almost a sigh. Although she was careful to avoid eye contact, her peripheral vision revealed his keen interest in her movements. "Is _this _part of what you think Jack owes you, or are we mixing business with pleasure?" She pitched her voice low, locking eyes with him. "What's the name of the other game, the one we start playing after Jack calls, and I tell him I'm all right?"

His eyes searched her face. _What's he looking for? Apprehension, pleading … some sign of fear or weakness, I'm sure. What would serve me better, weakness or strength? These men don't seem to be men inclined to mercy … but they do rise to a challenge. _She kept her face impassive, expectant. Finally, he spoke. "We call it 'Make a Believer.' And it's part of the debt your old man owes; what with twenty years' interest, it's more than he can ever pay back by himself." He stood. "What the hell do you _see_ in him?"

"Last question, I take it, Ace?"

"Yeah. Last question, then you can go nighty-night."

"I wouldn't know where to begin; I surely don't know how to explain it so you'd understand. He's just got a gift – he knows how to treat a girl. He knows what she wants, even when she doesn't." She met his eyes. "And he can always give her what she wants."

His fists balled at his sides. Without a word, he turned and left. She checked her tracking system again; everybody was home, in the kitchen, except for Sarah, who was at Saint Lawrence mission - sorting through donated clothes, probably. _Should have suggested a salad to go with the casserole; too late now._

Luis stuck his head in. "I'm back."

"Obviously. This room is like a bus terminal. Are you guys really taking turns, or does it just seem that way?"

He stepped in, carrying a tumbler filled with water. "Uncle Ace gets nervous when you're in here alone. Uncle Chuck won't come in here by himself, so that leaves me or Uncle Bennie."

"A clear choice. Maybe you could spend the night? Ooh, that didn't come out right, did it?"

"Slut. Shut up and drink." He tipped the nearly full tumbler towards her mouth.

"Wait-"

Instead of pouring into her mouth, the liquid ran straight down the side of the glass and off the bottom, splashing her throat and chest.

"-Too full."

He made a disgusted sound, pulled the bottom of his loose shirt out of the front his pants, and briskly wiped her off. Thoughtless of anything but getting her dry, he chased the last rivulet deep into the leather bustier, actually touching her nipple before he realized what he was doing. He snatched his hand away as if he'd touched a hot stove. "Aahh, _crap_! I'm so sorry, Anne."

She tried to ignore the incident. "You'd better drink about half, before we do that again."

"Maybe I should pour it on my head. Man. Anne, I knew better than to tip the glass like that. But … I noticed that loose clasp … oh, damn. " His face was flaming. "I got distracted. And then… how much worse could I have _made _it? Uncle Bennie'd be proud of me."

"Oh, pooh. You just got carried away while you were doing something nice. Thank you. As for the other…" She wiggled the fingers of one hand. "Hand. Here. Now." They linked fingers; she caught his eyes and held them. "Luis, you're eighteen years old; healthy guys your age have sex fantasies about every presentable girl they meet – it's perfectly normal. I know I don't really fill out this outfit, but it's _made _to be provocative. If looking at me didn't get you bothered a little, I'd be insulted." She grinned, squeezed his fingers, and released them. "And by the way, girls are different from boys, but we're not _completely_ different. While you were swabbing my face, I got a pretty good look at what you've got under your shirt. Call me shameless, but I _was_ enjoying the view – you're awfully buff for a guy who _says_ he never works out. So, let's not get all weird about it, okay?"

"Okay." He drank, looking down at her. "You want that snapped up?" He gestured toward the undone top buckle.

"Not on your life."

"Look, I'll be careful. I just-"

"It's got nothing to do with _you_, Luis; this thing is _excruciating _when it's all done up. You don't believe me, try to fasten it together."

He did. "Holy…" he said, when the ends were still an inch apart. "I can loosen this up."

"Don't you dare. It's like that for a reason, and I'm sure, sooner or later, one of your uncles will be putting it back together. Until then, I can at least take a breath without feeling like I'm bench pressing my own weight."

He met her eyes. "You're amazing, you know that? The way you're taking all this. I've seen people _lose_ it when somebody pulls out in front of them in a car, and you're acting like this is just some petty annoyance."

She felt her features smooth out. "Oh, it's all an act. You wouldn't _believe_ how hard I'm working to keep my emotions in check. I keep reminding myself that the party's just getting started; I've got to pace myself. How about that drink? And, if it's not too much trouble, a little help with my head? Takes the strain off my upper back."

His hand cupped the back of her neck as he tipped the glass to her lips. She took dainty little sips, making an elaborate production of swallowing and moistening her lips, as if she were parched. She felt reluctant to finish the glass; she found that she was enjoying Luis's attention, and the feel of his hand. _God, how I miss tender gestures already. At home with the kids, hardly an hour goes by without a brief touch, or a pat, or fingers in the hair. And when Jack is home…_ At last, the glass was empty; Luis released her and set it on the chair seat. _Great. Now I'll have a good supply of tears for the next time one of these sadistic apes has a problem he needs to take out on me. It doesn't matter that they're not really hurting me; the constant exposure to all this willful cruelty is waking up something I'd rather leave sleeping. If Jack doesn't shake some information loose from these guys when he calls, I might just give in and throw my _own_ party._

She noticed that Luis was staring at her. "What?"

"I think I just saw your self-control slip a little." He removed the glass from the chair, set it on the floor, and sat. "Unless they throw me out, I'm spending the night right here."

"Luis, I was just kidding. I'm a big girl, I'll be fine."

"Uh huh. Well, for me, it's either this or a mattress on the floor, two feet from Uncle Bennie."

"Eww."

A high-pitched squeal, almost a whistle, sounded from the kitchen. Cursing followed, then the sound of the oven door opening, and finally the side door was slammed open.

"Smoke alarm," Luis said. "I didn't know this dump had one."

"Sounds like takeout again tonight," she agreed.


	2. Opening Round

Bennie watched Ace dump the last of the ruined meal into a garbage bag. Without looking up, Ace said, "Shut up."

"Woulda tasted a hell of a lot better than the pizza you're gonna order."

"You wouldn't have tasted it at all, with a cleaver in your skull. Besides, she wanted it too bad, and you know it. We'd have had to start all over again with her."

"Maybe not. You didn't even try to deal."

"She's not ready for that kind of action yet. The little bitch is a lot tougher than I ever expected."

"Oh, I think she might be ready to learn a couple little tricks."

"What you been smokin? She ain't scared, and she doesn't seem to be hurtin, really, except when Chucky damn near knocked her lungs out her mouth. But five minutes later, she was actin like it never happened. She _asked _me what we were gonna do with her after we set up the meet with Lynch – not scared or pleadin, just like makin conversation, just to see if I'd tell her. Challengin me, almost. I'm thinkin we're gonna have to do the final scene with restraints and a gag."

"Pessimist. I'll have her eatin out of my hand by tonight."

"Hmm. The kid still in there?"

"Yeah. And what are we gonna do about _that_ bloomin friendship?"

His brother grinned, the way he used to when he was shoving firecrackers up dogs' asses. "Not a fuckin thing, for now. Let em get nice and cozy. I got a couple ideas about that."

"_I _think you went too far, bringin him into this. Should've left well enough alone."

Ace gave him a fierce look. "The book ain't closed without him."

There was no arguing with him about it, so Bennie said, "Fine, then," and let it go. "What say we send Chucky out for food? Where's he at?"

"Cleanin his fuckin gun, can you believe it? Seems like he gets more impatient every time. Pretty soon, we're gonna have to let him kill one _first._"

"Then we better get two, cause I ain't playin _that_ shit."

Chucky returned, and reluctantly agreed to fetch more fast food. But he insisted the kid come with him. "He knows how to drive; I can show him where the grease pits are at, then _I_ won't have to play errand boy all the time."

"How about it, Ace? Get the kid out of our hair for a while, and I'll get to work."

"Eatin out of your hand by tonight, hey?" Ace glanced at Chucky, who displayed two fingers. Ace lifted an eyebrow.

III

Luis sat in the passenger seat of the rental car with his side pressed against the door. It was silly, but the idea of accidentally touching his Uncle Chuck gave him the creeps. The guy didn't treat him any worse than Uncle Ace, and his brusque manner was _way _easier to take than Uncle Bennie's child-molester-turned-used-car-salesman friendliness. But Anne was right, he_ did_ look like a mortician: not the one who greets the bereaved at the chapel door, but the guy who does the gruesome work in the basement.

Luis rode in heavy silence for a few minutes, then, unable to stand it any more, said, "Uncle Chuck, how often do we do this sort of thing? I mean, I'm not going to be kidnapping people every week to get them to pay back their loans, right?" His uncle turned to him with a blank stare. He pressed on. "I mean, the Family does most of its business with people we _know_; if this was a common practice, everybody would know about it. Is this just something you do to outsiders who skip out? _That_ can't happen very often, right?"

With his eyes on the road, Chuck said, "You make your bones, some time when I wasn't lookin?"

Silence seemed the only prudent answer.

After a moment, Chuck continued, "So we're not gonna talk about anything I did twenty years ago, or last week. And I'm _not_ gonna tell you about what we got planned for the next twenty-four hours." He drove as carefully as a chauffeur; the car turned and braked and accelerated smooth as glass when he was at the wheel. "But you got something else you want to talk about, don't you?"

Luis stared out the window. "This isn't what I wanted to be when I grew up."

He'd expected some drill-sergeant response about life being tough, and dealing with what life sends your way. Instead, the man said, "Not exactly what you been goin to school for, is it?"

"You _know _about that?"

"I go to weddings and funerals. Your ma can't shut up about it."

Luis decided to take the plunge. "Uncle, what we're doing scares the crap out of me. The whole idea of snatching this girl as collateral feels wrong, and what Ace and Bennie been doing to her is _twisted._"

They stopped at a light; Chuck turned to him. "There's a reason you're unloading all this on _me_?"

Luis head shrugged. "I need to talk to somebody. Of the three of you, you're my favorite uncle."

"That's not sayin much."

"No. Just not being an asshole puts you way ahead of the pack." Chuck showed no reaction; Luis plowed on, "Sorry. I know Ace is your big brother and all-"

"Younger."

"Uh?"

"Ace is four years younger; Bennie is three." They turned into a strip mall. Most of the storefronts, he saw, were food vendors of one sort or another: burgers, Chinese, pizza, even a chicken joint. The car pulled into a space in front of the pizzeria; Chuck parked and pulled the keys. When Luis made to get out, his uncle stopped him with a gesture, put the keys back in the ignition and stared straight ahead out the windshield.

"All right, kid … Luis. This is gonna be your one chance, right here, right now. I'm gonna go in here and order, should be twenty, thirty minutes. The smartest thing you could do is disappear before I come back. Ditch the car within a hundred miles. Don't call home; don't send a card saying you're okay; don't even look back once you decide to go. Find a job, find a girl, keep your head down, and don't give a thought to what you left behind."

After a moment's shock, he realized what he was being offered … and what he was being asked to pay. "What about the girl, Uncle? Do I leave her behind too?"

Chuck gripped the wheel so hard that it started to bend. His hand flashed; it was the first time Luis had noticed the man's ring, kind of like a class ring with a gold band and a red stone, but on his pinky instead of the third finger. "_Yes! _Dammit,_ yes! _You're gonna still be here, ain't ya? Over a girl you known for half a day. What do you think you can do for her if you stay?"

"I don't know. But I can't do _anything_ for her if I leave, and I think she's going to need help."

"Yeah? Well, she doesn't seem to think so, does she? She thinks her husband's gonna come and buy her back. Why don't you?"

"Because, whatever this is about, it isn't about money."

Chuck became still as a stone. "We're gonna end up on opposite sides, if you stay. You'll be all alone. You'll probably get killed. The whole fucking _world_," he said, his voice shaking, "is full of girls need a big strong hero. Why don't you find another one to save?" He turned to face him. "If you leave, I'll help her."

"You will?"

The look Chuck gave him was chilling. "All I can." He got out of the car.

Thirty-five minutes later, Chuck stepped out of the pizzeria to find him waiting in the car. The big man settled behind the wheel, once again staring straight ahead. "We never had a conversation."

"No."

III

Bennie opened the bedroom door and stepped in. His first glance at the girl was a shock: the way she lay there, still as a statue, staring at the ceiling, he thought she was dead. Then, the life seemed to come back into her face. "Hello, Bennie. How was dinner?"

He grinned. "Hey, _I _was gonna let you cook."

"Just as well, I suppose. It would have been pretty hard moving around the kitchen with your hand in my shirt."

He hung the friendliest smile he could conjure on his face. "You got me all wrong. I would've been _glad _to sit at the table and knock back a cold one, waiting for dinner and just admiring the view." He stood over her, and noticed the top buckle of her top was undone. He flicked the end with a finger, barely touching her. "What's up with this? The kid gettin frisky?"

"That was Ace, actually. I think he was trying to give me CPR."

"_Huh_?"

"I annoyed Chuck, I guess. He hit me, hard, and I couldn't breathe. Next thing I know, Ace is bending over me, and I'm open to the world."

"And the world appreciates it."

She gave him a sour look. "You say the nicest things. So, what brings you to my grubby little cell? As if I didn't know."

He sat in the chair next to the bed, within arm's reach if that became expedient. "Just lookin for a little company, is all. Chucky's bringin back pizza, if you're interested. Course, somebody'd have to feed you." _Oh, yes, that would be a perfect start. Make sure she knows how dependent she is on me, that every morsel requires some sort of cooperation; raise the price on each successive bite; and above all, find an excuse, preferably her fault, to end the game while she's still hungry. Come back a couple hours later and do it again; she'll be doing tricks by breakfast. The hard part is getting her to take that first bit of food from my hand; then I can start gentling her._ He imagined her opening her mouth for him to slip the tip of a pizza wedge into it.

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, but being chained up spoils my appetite."

"Suit yourself. You'll change your mind as soon as you smell it."

"Don't count on it."

"Well, maybe I got somethin you _will_ go for." He held up a small key.

She looked at it, and then pointedly looked away. "You wouldn't dare. Ace would kill you."

"He would," he agreed, "if I let you off the chain. But I think I can get away with givin you some slack. How'd you like to be able to move your arms and legs?"

She waited a few seconds. "What do you want, Bennie?"

"Like I said: a little company. Plus some talk on a subject that interests me."

She blew softly. "If you want me to talk dirty to you, you'd probably be disappointed, Bennie. I'm sure I don't have the proper vocabulary."

"We'll see; you might surprise yourself." He grinned down at her. "I ask you a question, you answer. I like the answer, I loosen the chain a little. Come on, little girl, it's just talk." _If you can still feel your hands, they must be tingling like crazy; your joints and shoulders got to be screaming from the strain. You know you want it._ He watched as she started to speak, then willed herself to silence. The silence stretched; he became fascinated by her mouth, as her lips parted and closed again. She wet her lips, parted them again; a breath as soft as a whisper slipped from between them.

"Ask your question, Bennie."

_Bingo! _He pressed his advantage. "Wait. Seein how I might be wastin my time here, I think I oughtta get one free sample."

"Fine. And if I don't like the question, I'll tell you to go screw yourself."

His grin widened. "See, you're losin that Girl Scout mouth already." He paused for effect. "What's your favorite position?" _See if that doesn't throw her off balance._

Her eyelids drooped. "Just jumping right in, aren't you?" Only a moment's hesitation, then: "Any position that's face to face."

The speed of her answer surprised him. "Why face to face?"

She looked at her shackled wrist. "That's another question, Bennie."

He unlocked the cuff circling the left bedpost, moved it inward to the next vertical on the headboard, and reattached it. Not until then did he realize he'd paid her in advance. "Well?"

"Two reasons. I like to kiss, during."

"Mmm. And the other?"

Another delicious hesitation. "Jack tells me to open my eyes, so he can look into them, when I …"

"Come."

"Climax, yes."

"You like that?"

"It makes me come all over again."

His breath caught. "You said, 'any position, so long as it's face to face.' How many have you got in your repertoire?"

"'Repertoire.' That's a pretty fancy word for a guy who keeps dropping his gees."

"You gonna answer or not?"

"The other wrist, please?"

He shortened the reach on the right shackle.

She rolled a shoulder, easing a cramped muscle, no doubt. "Let's see: on my back, of course; standing up, almost anywhere, but especially in the shower – had to put a mat on the floor for traction. In a chair, without arms if he's sitting, with arms if I am – not too stable, we went over backwards once, it was hilarious. Kitchen table and counters, and the coffee table – though I don't like that way so much, I have to reach behind me to brace myself and then I can't use my hands for anything else. That's about it – Bennie, are you okay? You're breathing funny."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just surprised, is all. Guess you weren't _always_ a Girl Scout."

"I was _never_ a Girl Scout - a lack I'm trying to make up in later years."

All his preconceptions about the girl did a one-eighty. _What a little tart. Sounds like she's been doing it since she had hair on her pussy. How disappointing. _"So, how many guys have you screwed?" _Do you even remember?_ He knew it was the wrong question to ask as soon as it came out his mouth.

She blinked. "Beg pardon?"

He plowed on, committed, while he looked for a way to put a better face on it. "How many guys does a girl have to be with to learn that many ways to do it? You don't look old enough. How soon did you give away your cherry?"

"That's not a question. It sounds more like an indictment." She was tensing up; this whole game was about to go belly-up if he didn't smooth some ruffled feathers.

He tried to look apologetic. "Look, I didn't mean for it to come out that way, okay? Don't get hot. I just wanted to know how much ol' Jack had to teach you when you married him." She still looked tight as a spring, staring up at the ceiling. "All right, listen, how about if I do the leg irons this time? Get your feet a little closer together; it'll loosen you up a lot." She turned her head towards him, not convinced but listening. "Come on. It's just talk, little girl. Gotta be better than bein stretched out like a sail while somebody plays with your toys."

She looked back down at her bound legs. Softly, she said, "Okay. But only if you do it now. Before I change my mind."

Quickly, he rearranged the leg manacles; with her legs freed somewhat, she could make full use of all the extra slack, which she did. He watched, barely breathing, as she writhed slowly on the bed: stretching, arching her back and rolling her hips, raising one knee, then the other. Breathy little sighs escaped her lips as she moved, seemingly oblivious to anything but the pleasure of movement. _Christ on a crutch, you could sell tickets to this show._ _A_ _racehorse to its rider …_ When she'd first spoken those words, an image had jumped into his mind: taking her from behind, riding crop in hand, hearing her squeal as he applied it; now, it rose in his mind again, stopping his breath entirely. Finally, with a last deep sigh, she relaxed, turned to him, and said, "Better. What was the question?"

For a moment, he couldn't remember. "When did you… lose your virginity, and how many lovers have you had?"

"Um, I think I might have given you a false impression earlier. Jack is my first. I was a virgin when I married him."

"You're shittin me."

"No. He taught me everything."

Mentally, he started to spin back to his earlier position, putting her back on her pedestal. "Wait a minute. You're like, twenty-five, twenty-seven. You've been married for two years. Did you leave a frickin convent, or what?" _An ex–nun; I'm getting a chubby just thinking about it._

"No, no. I just had zero interest in men."

"You used to be a _dyke_?"

"Will you get _off _that, Bennie? I wasn't interested in sex, period. It's like I was a neuter; I don't know how to explain it. But that all started to change when I met Jack, and, well, one thing led to another; and now, it's all I can do to keep my hands off him sometimes."

_Oh, gee, what a great story to tell Ace; as batshit as he is about Jack Lynch, God's Gift to Women, it would be like zapping him with a cattle prod. _"Hmp. I'm sure he's real nice to you, and no doubt he's taught you a lot of tricks. But the old boy is crowdin sixty. Doesn't he ever … disappoint you?"

"Disappoint me?"

"You know. Trouble getting started, getting it up." _I sure as hell wouldn't, not with something like this greeting me at the door. But, if he does, what a juicy taunt to throw at him, especially if it includes some detail only his wife would know._

"You're not seriously posing that as a question, are you? You really expect me to discuss … my older husband's … performance problems?" She looked up at the ceiling. "He's a very private man. If I told you the truth about that, I'd never hear the end of it. I know, sometimes, when we're out together and he introduces me, we generate a lot of speculation that makes him uncomfortable. No," she said finally. "I don't think I want to talk about that."

"Well, suit yourself. But he's never gonna hear about it from _me_. And it's worth another notch all the way around; double your slack. You might even be able to touch your head." _Not likely, but a little false hope might be in order here._

"Why would you even want to _know_ something like that?"

_Ahh, she's thinking about it, after all. That little stretch must have felt as good as it looked. Would she do it again?_ He felt his balls bunch up at the thought. "Because," he said carefully, "how you handle the situation might tell me something about _you_."

"I have to tell you, Doctor, your couch still isn't all that comfortable." A pause. "You'd probably be disappointed in my answer."

"No such thing as a bad answer."

The silence stretched. He sat patiently, sure that anything else he might say would queer the deal.

"As soon as you get what you want from me, you're going to stretch me out again, aren't you?"

_Oh, ain't this pitiful; I really didn't expect to hear this one beg so soon. _He gave her a head shrug. "Later, maybe. But not now. Not until there's a reason." _Not if you're good. Oh, man, she's going for it!_ He rubbed mental hands together and began to plan._ I'll have her doing tricks by tonight. What sounds like fun? Maybe I can get her to do that horizontal pole dance on command; oh, yeah. Then I'll have her do it for Ace; let Lynch's old lady do a bump-and-grind for him, that would make his fucking day. _He showed her the key, and raised one eyebrow.

Her eyes flicked towards it, then away; her jaw set. "Deal."

He rearranged the cuffs, slowly, one at a time, luxuriating in the slight resistance of her limbs as he gently pulled the chains to unlock the cuffs, and the silky feel of her skin against his fingers. With great effort, he resisted the urge to touch her more than necessary; time enough for that later, he was now sure._ Or maybe she'd like to take a shower, while we watch._

A repeat performance would have been nice, he thought, but she only tested the extent of her new freedom, then lay still. She took as deep a breath as her sexy little straightjacket allowed, and let it out. With her eyes downcast and not looking his way, she said, "Okay. Jack has no … erectile problems … whatsoever. Quite the opposite. The man's a _stallion._ The ten days a month he's home, he wears me _out_. Afterwards, he's so embarrassed about 'acting like a horny teenager' - his words – but it doesn't slow him down. When he comes home, it doesn't matter how late it is, how long he's been awake or how long he's gone without food: I have to move _fast _to get a meal in him, or he'll just pick me up and carry me off to the bedroom." She smiled dreamily. "Two days ago, he came home in mid-afternoon, and the kids were still in school; we didn't make it past the foyer. I think my panties are still in the coat closet somewhere." She started to swivel her hips, then suddenly, everything changed: she went still, and her face set like she'd bit into something rotten. "Well, snap your fingers, why don't you?"

_What the hell is she talking about? What just happened?_

"Guess you showed _me_, didn't you? And I never saw it coming, even though I told you how to do it. All this talk about sex with Jack, getting me thinking … _dreaming _about him."

Understanding came at last. He stared at her crotch like some fucking moron, knowing what he would find if he stuck his hand down there.

"I'll give you this game, Bennie. Take your ball and go home. I don't want to play any more." She stared at the ceiling. He tried for a minute to get her to talk or respond, but she just lay there.

_Damn. _He got up and headed for the door, feeling whipped. _Everything was going great; now it's like I'd never come in here. I'm leaving hungrier than when I came in..._ He stopped, with his hand on the doorknob, as it hit him.

_Make them pay for each morsel, a little more each time; end the game on a note of rejection before they're satisfied. Come back a little later and do it again._

He turned slowly; she was watching him, as he knew she'd be. "Back a little soon, aren't you? Shouldn't you wait at least an hour before you try again?"

"You slick little bitch," he said, almost in wonder. "_You_ played _me_."

"I can't take much credit, Bennie, you made iwhat you really wanted _so_ obvious. So, who was this woman Jack had an affair with, that you guys can't get it out of your heads after twenty years? Wife, girlfriend, sister? I'm betting wife, probably Ace's."

Knowing how stupid he sounded, he asked anyway. "How did you know?"

"Too much wounded pride. If it had been a sister, or even a girlfriend, it wouldn't have been such an attack on his masculinity. But my man's charm and virility are just way too popular subjects around here. Ace tries to be casual about it when he talks to me, but it's like he lost a tooth and he can't help sticking his tongue in the empty socket."

He stepped back to her, standing over the bed and looking down at her. "You know too much about this."

"Colleges teach some very strange electives these days."

"_Really_," he said. "So I suppose you think I can't break you?" He felt his hand curling into claws.

"_Anybody _can be broken, with enough time and the right technique," she replied coolly. "But you don't have either one. If you want to break into _my _head and steal my soul, you'd better bring better burglar tools than … a slice of pizza, and a few inches of chain."

_Doesn't sound much like a Girl Scout _now_, not at all. _"Modest girl like you must be pretty uncomfortable in an outfit like this." He grabbed the ends of the open buckle. "Lemme close the front of it up for you."

"Wrong move, Bennie," she managed to get out, as he snapped the ends together. Then he put a knee into her sternum, for leverage and to force her lungs to empty, and yanked on the strap end with both hands, closing it up almost completely; then he drew the other two up the same way. When he was done, she was panting like a dog, her breath coming out in puffs too shallow to blow out a candle.

He grinned down at her as she lay there, totally concentrated on her next breath. "Ain't you gonna say 'thank you?'"

"Fuck." Two gasps. "You." Three Gasps. "Bennie." She quit breathing; her eyes rolled into the top of her head.

For a few seconds, he couldn't believe it; it _had _to be an act. Then, he reached for her wrist. He couldn't find a pulse. "Shit shit SHIT!" He tried to unsnap the buckles; they were so tight, they wouldn't unlock. Frantic now, he yanked up on the top buckle so hard that he lifted her off the bed; the buckle sprang open and snapped against his thumb. Freeing the first strap made the last two even tighter; by the time he got them open, his own breathing was pretty ragged. He began chest compressions, for once unmindful of exposed female flesh; pinching her nostrils shut, he was about to do mouth-to-mouth, but she pulled in a quick snoring breath and puffed it out, then started gasping in earnest. Her eyes rolled back down, wide and staring, as she panted and coughed like a runner at the end of a long race. Eventually, she calmed, and her breathing returned to normal. She said distantly, "Three near-death experiences in twelve hours. Gets a little harder to back away from the light each time, you know?" She came back into focus and looked him over. "Well, Bennie, what have we just learned?"

"What have we _learned_? What have we fucking _learned_?" She was still exposed from the hips up; his fingers shook as he began to loosen the straps, watching her bare chest rise and fall, feeling not a hint of lust. It shocked him to his core, how close he'd come to blowing the whole deal; Ace would have pistol-whipped him till he couldn't walk.

Her voice was so calm, it raised the hairs on his neck. "Yes, Bennie: what did you learn about breaking this slick little bitch to your will?"

The calm in his own voice was equally scary, in a detached sort of way. "Tell me. Tell me yourself, so I get it right."

She twisted in her chains, looking like a kinky pinup girl. "You can hurt me as much as you dare, and I can't do a thing about it. But you're not going to break me with pain, or fear of death. You're just going to have to try harder, Bennie. Get inventive."

He snapped the buckles together, covering her; then, almost gently, drew the straps up until they were no more than snug. "I don't need your cooperation, you know. I got ways to make you do what I want. You won't have any choice."

"And I'm sure you'll use them. Once you give up and decide to settle for _second best_ from me."

He refused to rise to the bait; he turned away and went out the door. As soon as he closed it behind him, he wiped at his scalp and forehead with shaking hands, squeegeeing off sweat and flinging it to the floor.

Ace and Chucky were sitting at the kitchen table, pizza boxes in front of them; but they weren't eating, they were watching him. Without a word, Ace dug out his wallet, pulled out a pair of hundreds, and passed them to Chucky, who took them, also without a word. "Didn't go so well, I take it."

"She's nothin like I thought." He briefly sucked on the knuckle of his stinging thumb. "Jeezus. It was like one of those old Westerns where everybody in the fort knows the redskins are gonna make an attack at dawn. Sun comes up, everybody who can hold a gun is up on the wall, waitin, but down low, so the stupid Injuns don't know they're bein suckered. I think she knew what I was up to as soon as I walked in the room. She sent me out of there almost empty handed, still thinkin I'd been playin _her_." He sat down heavily. "I want to break her so bad, I can feel it from my dick to my teeth; if I could get a blowjob from her, I'd die happy. But I don't have a fuckin _clue_ where to start, much less how to do it in forty-eight hours. By the way, Ace, you coulda told me that you two had a little talk already."

"So this is _my _fault?"

"No, but if I'd known, I might not of looked like a _total_ asshole in there." He slumped in the chair.

Ace looked at Chuck. "How did you know? You almost never bet against him, and _never _this much. You got some frickin in- too-ishun about this little bitch?"

Chuck took a deep breath and clenched his jaw for a moment before he spoke. "She's not human."

Bennie slapped the heel of his hand to his forehead. "Oh, _jeez_, why didn't I notice that? Now I know _just _what to do."

Chuck was stubborn. "Hear me out. _Think_. She's got both of you so pissed off you can't think straight, and maybe that's just what she wants. Is she reacting _anything _like normal to all this?" He held up a finger. "One. We're not hurtin her. Oh, she bitches a little, but if she was what she seems, she would have been cryin like a baby. We've seen people scream just at the sight of Ace's pliers, but I wouldn't bet on it with this one. For her, this is just some bullshit she's putting up with. Two. She's got more lives than a damn cat. There was enough dope on that rag to knock out somebody twice her size, and keep her limp as a rag doll for a couple hours, if experience is any judge. But, twenty minutes later, she's movin and talkin in her sleep – and numb nuts here gives her a second dose that shoulda killed her."

"Wait a minute, it wasn't-"

"_Bullshit!_ You know how tricky that stuff is, Ace. You had that rag jammed up into her face so hard, the shit was trickling down her chin, and Bennie didn't get it away from you for almost a minute. She shoulda quit breathin before we got back to the house – fuck, she shoulda drawn her last breath before you pulled the rag off. Five hours later, she's awake and workin us already, tryin to take charge. Offerin to cook _dinner_! She damn near suffocated when I hit her, and as soon as she gets her breath back, she's sassin you."

Bennie's chest felt tight; he drew a breath. "Happened again, just now." He explained, ending with, "and as soon as her eyes roll back down, she's lecturing me like a schoolteacher."

Ace wasn't looking good; he said to Chucky, "How did you figure this out, when you don't even talk to her?"

"Because I'm not talkin to her. Because I'm the only sonofabitch here, the kid included, who isn't thinking with his dick when it comes to that little piece. Can you think of _one thing_ that's gone accordin to plan since she opened her eyes? I don't know where Lynch got her, but she's not a normal quarter-age chick. She's a freak of nature or something. You try to play her the same old way, you'll come up with zip, every time."

"Okay. So, what would _you _do, genius?"

"Kill her. Now, before Lynch gets in touch. Put a bullet in her skull, drive a stake through her fuckin heart, and go get another one."

"The redhead, maybe?"

"_No!_ If he's not tappin em, he still feels protective. Get the smallest and most helpless, not the one who looks ready to guest star on the WW fuckin F; get the little dye job. When he gets home, let him see the pictures of his wife, and a final one with her brains blown out; then a picture of the teenybopper stretched out on the same bed, in the same outfit, waitin her turn. He'll come around quick."

Lying quietly, listening intently, she thought, _Don't go for it, Ace. You haven't shown any respect for your brother's judgment up till now; don't spoil your record. It's too soon to break cover._

A thought intruded and threatened her calm. _Bennie wants to see Caitlin in chains; would he change his mind if he knew I learned all my dance moves from the 'little dye job?' _Even knowing it would never happen, the image of Bennie bringing Roxanne here for fun and games was almost enough to make her lose her self-control; she could almost feel his throat in her hands.

Finally, Ace said, "No. Too risky. We'll play the cards we got."

"In that case," Chuck continued, "If you wanna break her, Bennie, use your head. Find something she values, and take it – or put it in jeopardy. It's the only chance you got."

"What the hell would you suggest I take away from her? Can't even get her to eat, she doesn't have a fuckin thing we didn't already take from her, and we don't have anything she wants. She practically _dared _me to stretch her back out again. What's left?"

"I thought _you _were supposed to be the expert. What's she seem to care about more than anything else?"

"Hell … good ol' Jack. But we don't have him, yet."

"Uh huh. But we _have_ got somebody she cares about."

Silence.

"Oh, come _on._ The _kid_, you jackasses. You don't see what's goin on there?"

"Yeah, I been watchin her reel him in," Ace allowed. "I figured I'd let her think she had him wrapped, and then feed her some bullshit through him, shake her up a little. But that's not gonna-"

Chuck slapped the table. The sound was as loud as a gunshot. "Christ Almighty, are you two really that blind? Am I the only one who's caught her lookin at him when his back's turned? She's not just playin him; she's goin _sweet_ on him."

"No fuckin way!"

"Way. You want to crack her armor, find a way to turn him against her. Hint that you've got a way to do the same thing with her husband. If _that _doesn't loosen her up, nothing will."

"Fuck. I knew you were smarter than you look."

"Takes fuckin _genius _to clean up some of _your_ messes, boys." Chucky pushed his chair back and stood.

"Hey, where _is _he, anyway? He didn't come in with you."

"Left him in the car, told him not to come in till I called; business meetin. Said if he had to stretch, he could walk around the block, but no farther."

"Don't think he'll bolt?"

"No. Not a chance."

III

While listening to the men argue, Anna had become aware of soft noises at the back wall of the bedroom, the one to her right, the room's only outside wall. She heard the soft _chunk, chunk_ of a tool digging into mortar, then rhythmic scraping, followed by more picking. Someone was attacking the brickwork outside her cell.

_Luis. He's picked his side, apparently. And I was worried that Ace would blow my cover. How can I stop him, without giving him up to the ogres in the next room? _

The side door creaked open. A few moments later, Chuck's voice called, "Hey, kid! You out here?" She heard him descend the steps to the driveway. From the back wall came scraping sounds as bricks were shoved back into place, then footsteps rounding the house towards the side door.

"Where _you_ been?"

"I took a walk. I was on the other side of the block when I heard you call, so I cut through to the back yard."

"Don't do that again. Neighbors might take notice. What's all that crap on your pants legs?"

"I guess they're remodeling in one of those houses; there's a big pile of debris I had to climb over."

_Too easy to check that, Luis. You've been lucky so far, but you're not a good liar._

"All right. Go inside and grab a bite, then clean up."

"What are you going to do?" The boy's voice was steadier than she would have expected.

"I'm gonna catch a little fresh air, then light one up an' cough like a fuckin dragon. Get." After Luis was inside, Chuck walked the perimeter of the house, slowly. His footsteps stopped at the back wall.

Her chains began to feel flimsy as yarn. _Maybe if I tie Ace up, and make him watch me torture his brothers, he'll crack, and I won't have to lay a finger on him; his heart will stand up to that, won't it? Sure._

She had almost decided to do it, when Chuck spoke, so quietly that she could barely hear, "God, you save this boy. Hear me?" He walked back towards the door.

Shocked, she struggled to reevaluate the situation; Chuck wasn't fitting into his niche properly. _Every time I think I've got things figured out with these guys, I learn something that knocks my assumptions out from under me. It would be nice if my skillset files included a course on abnormal psychology. Or do they? 'Second best from me'; God, where did that come from? But Bennie understood, and it moved him. How did I figure his game? _She ran a quick file log query; all her recently used programs and subroutines lined up in her mind's eye, with their times and dates. _It all matches up: whenever I'm _s_uccessfully second-guessing these psycho assholes, my Alpha file is at the top of my queue. The psycho sharing the inside of my skull understands them perfectly. Great, something else to worry about. The easier they get to manipulate, the closer I am to killing them all. I'm balanced on a knife edge._

She heard Luis enter the house. "Somebody going to feed her?"

"Not unless we pry her jaws open and shove it down," was Bennie's reply. "Don't worry about it. _She's_ not. Believe me, she's a bad candidate for a long-term relationship… more ways than one."

Ace snorted. Chuck clumped up the outside stairs, entered, and sank heavily into a couch in the living room.

"What do you mean?" Luis's voice was level, very controlled.

"Not yet," Bennie said. "I think I'll give you a _little_ more time to figure it out for yourself. Call it your first lesson. But think about this: doesn't she seem kinda sociable and laid-back for a kidnap victim? I seen people pulled over for speedin who sweated more. While you're starin into those baby blues of hers, you might wonder what's _really _goin on behind em."

"She's just trying to make the best of things, I think. She's sure her husband's coming to buy her free."

"That's bullshit, just so you know. She doesn't even know if he's gonna _call, _before he goes jettin off to the South Pacific. Start thinkin about another way to explain how come she acts like she's visiting boring relatives."

A pause. Then: "She doesn't feel threatened by you. Not at all."

"That would be stupid; and, whatever the hell she is, stupid she's not. She's trained to keep cool in threatening situations – test pilot cool. Doesn't fit the image of a happy little housewife, does it? Come _on_, kid, why's she bein so nice to you? You're workin with _us_, right? You think you won her heart with a little kindness? Or maybe it's your looks, hey?" She heard a patting sound, presumably Bennie's hand on Luis' shoulder; if she'd been built for it, she was sure it would have made her skin crawl. "Next time you see her, look at her with fresh eyes, that's all I'm sayin. Quit overlookin the stuff that doesn't add up."

"Nothing is adding up around here, nothing. When was the last time somebody looked in on her? All the chemicals might not be out of her system, Uncle Bennie; it'd be a shame if she just stopped breathing while we're all out here, trying to psych her out."

They went back and forth in the same vein for a few minutes more. She let them thrash it out. They'd raise his suspicions of her or they wouldn't; either way created problems she'd have to deal with, and possibilities she might exploit. She decided to check on her family; knowing where they were made her feel a little less alone here.

Her tracking system placed all the kids in the house - all they should be, this close to curfew. Seeing Sarah and Bobby's blips together in his room gave her a warm glow; it was _so _good to see those two finally making a go of it, fragile as it was. Roxanne and Eddie appeared to be in the loft, probably watching TV or playing a game, or just possibly making out; Caitlin was in her room, alone, most likely studying for that Lit exam that she'd been fretting over. _Got to find that girl a boyfriend; she's turning solitary._

Jack was pulling out of the garage. His transponder and the Charger's accelerated smoothly down the drive and turned onto the street without slowing. _Odd; Jack's usually a cautious driver, especially in his own neighborhood, where local cops might get in the habit of noting his comings and goings._

Luis stepped into the room. "You awake?"

"Feeling kind of wrung out, but yes."

He looked at her, suspicion clear on his face. _So, they did get to him. Oh, well, at least we won't need any plain talk about breaking me out._

"Something's different." He moved closer. "It's your chains. What have they been doing to you?"

"Oh." She moved her arms and stretched. "Bennie came in and did it. Guess there's no point to leaving me on the rack since they've taken their pictures and I've made my call and Jack's not home."

"That's all?"

"No, Ace read me a bedtime story. Are you worried about me, Luis?"

"Annalise, they're making plans for you that they're keeping from me, and I don't like it one bit. Listen, I-"

"Stop right there, Luis. If your brain was as big as your heart, you'd admit how crazy you're acting." She dropped her voice almost to a whisper. "I heard you on the outside wall. If anyone else had been in the room, they'd have heard it too. If your uncles hadn't been arguing, they might have heard it from the kitchen. _Please_ don't risk it again." She shook her head and stared up at him. "I was right to call you a gallant knight. But if they catch you, family ties won't save you; these guys won't tolerate being crossed. Besides, between the drugs and the physical abuse, I don't think I can walk anymore. I _know_ I can't run. How are you going to get away, carrying me?" She cocked her head. "Or am I presuming too much? Were you thinking of going with me, or just breaking me out and hoping they wouldn't blame you?" She shook her head again. "Believe me, Luis: my only way out of here is through the door with Jack."

"He'll come for you." He made it sound like a question.

"Sure as the sun rises." Then, softly, she said, "He'll come for you, too, if you want."

He blew air out his nostrils, suddenly agitated. "What if he comes too late? What if they get tired of waiting? They're not just sitting around; they're working themselves up to something, something bad, and it involves you."

"Luis, I'm a lot tougher than I look. Getting raped, even gang raped … it's not going to scar me for life." She stared keenly at the intense young man standing over her. "Don't _you_ work yourself up to something rash. Just go along with them, as best you can, and wait it out. Don't take chances with them, Luis, seriously."

"You were right, before," he said softly. "When you wouldn't eat. They want to hurt you. If rape doesn't do it, they'll come up with something worse. How can you _not_ be so scared you can't think?"

"Faith, Luis. It gives me strength."

He jerked as if he'd been touched with a live wire. "Faith."

"Uh huh. Listen, I'm awful tired, and I've got a big day tomorrow; how about letting me drift off? Hold my hand till I fall asleep?"

He swallowed. "Sure." His hand closed over hers, big even for his size, warm and comforting. _I'm really getting to like the feel of his hands. Strange._

She closed her eyes, slowing her breathing, and reacquired her husband on her tracker.

He was traveling north on I-15, straight towards her. _Don't jump to conclusions; I-15 is the main traffic artery for this part of the state. He could be going anywhere. Unless he turns on to I-215, he'll pass twenty miles west of me._

She waited. Luis released her hand but stayed seated beside her. Jack's car approached the split and took I-215, continuing northward as I-15 bent west. He was still headed straight for her.

She felt Luis clasp her hand again. "It's okay, I'm right here." _I must have twitched or something. Jack, how could you possibly have figured out where I am? _

She kept her breathing slow and regular as she followed his approach up the interstate. He got off at the exit closest to her location; by now, she would have been surprised if he'd done anything else. On surface streets now, he slowly closed the gap until he was within a mile of the house. His transponder stopped moving.

[Anna.] His voice came to her through the comlink, accompanied by the throaty growl of his car's engine. [I know you can hear me. I've played along so far, but if you don't answer, I swear to God I'm coming in after you.]

[Hi, love,] she answered. [It's _so _good to hear your voice. But I wish you hadn't come. Everything's under control. Really.]

[Like _hell_ it is. I just spent two hours calming down two enraged genactive boys who want to visit the Seven Plagues on your hosts. If I hadn't sneaked out, they'd have insisted on coming with me. God knows what will happen once the girls find out.]

[How did you ever find me?]

[We spooks have our methods. What are these mooks up to, and why are you going along with it?]

[You saw the pictures, I presume. That show was arranged for your benefit; I'm bait to bring you to them. The leader of the group goes by the name of Ace Debagio; he's got a grudge against you from maybe twenty years back.]

[Doesn't ring a bell.]

[_Really_. I think you pronged his wife, you jerk.]

[Must have been the most mediocre lay of my life. Anna, I don't do other men's wives, never have.]

[He seemed quite certain. Did you have any business out on the East Coast back then?]

[Twenty years ago? I made a few visits, looking into illegal arms exports; almost got shot the last trip.] His voice grew somber. [That was a bad time for me. Most of the men on Team Seven had manifested by then, and some of us weren't handling the change well; that was when my wife took Bobby and left. The note she left said she knew it was time to go when seeing me sitting on the back step with my pistol under my chin didn't scare her anymore.]

[Oh, _Jack!_]

[It didn't last; but it didn't end soon enough. As soon as she disappeared, I _really _came apart. I got reckless, a danger to the people I worked with. Miles put me on detached duty, and promised he'd turn over every rock to find her if I'd just do this little side job while I got my head on straight. After what I'd been going through, sniffing out missing Army inventory headed for Lebanon or Northern Ireland almost felt like a vacation.]

She heard the radio in the car come on; odd, because Jack normally didn't listen in his car. It was a classical piece, and the volume was high enough to compete with his voice. [I did some stupid things then, on a personal level; I even lowered myself to a few one night stands. No Mafia princesses though, and no married women.]

[How would you know, if she didn't tell you?]

[Point taken. Doesn't seem likely, though.] There was a pause in the music, and she thought she heard a pop, like gravel under a tire. She queried both transponders; their positions were unchanged. _Classical stations sometimes have old vinyl in their libraries. _Jack changed the station, classic rock this time, and .38 Special belted out, "_It's so damn easy, when your feelings are such, to overprotect her, to love her too much…_"

[Hm,] he said. [If that's a divine warning, I'm in no mood to heed it. Give me one good reason why I should leave you in that place another minute.]

[Jack, they know where we live. They've been watching our house for days.]

[You're about to make a point, I can feel it.]

[Ace has been looking for you for twenty years, with no results. We move, and three weeks later these mooks have got our address, all the way from the East Coast. There must be a leak in our security, a big one. We've _got_ to find it and plug it. We can't leave our scent in the breeze; there are too many predators with their noses in the air, searching for us.]

[Plug the leaks? Can't think of anything I'd rather do right now.] He shut the radio off, and suddenly she could hear the engine, and it wasn't idling; she heard a distinct change in RPM as he upshifted. Again, a query showed the transponder positions unchanged. [Gotcha, doll.]

_Gotcha? _[Jack… where's your wristwatch?]

[Oh, the one with the tracking gadget in it? With the transponder I found in the car - at the base of the microwave tower that relayed your last call. I'm about a mile from there; plenty of separation to triangulate on you, close as you are.]

[I thought our phones were untraceable.]

[By anyone but me.]

[Jack Lynch, you are the most _exasperating_ man. If I had my hands on you, I'd shake you like a terrier with a rat. Or make love to you. Maybe both at once.]

[You'll get your chance soon enough. ETA five minutes.]

She forced herself to remain calm. [Jack, please don't do this. I haven't put up with all this indignity from these men just to watch you come through the door with a gun in each hand and kill them all.]

[So why _have_ you done it? God's sake, sweetheart, why not just pull things off them until they tell you what you want to know?]

[I think Ace is the only one who knows, and he's got a bum heart; the valves sound thin as paper. So I've been trying to beguile the information out of him.]

[How's _that _going?]

[Not so good,] she admitted. [These guys have personalities I'll never figure out from watching TV. Or our kids at play. They're twisted, sadistic, and obsessive, and they're rubbing me raw. They like to play cruel games.] She described Ace's question-and-answer game, but not Bennie's.

[Doll, I'm afraid you already blew it. I don't think Ace was really looking for personal information; he was more interested in the questions _you_ asked, what you might want to know.]

[So he could be sure to withhold it. Oh, dear.]

[I can see the house from here: shabby brick one-story, only one on the block. I can be there in about a minute, then we play our _own_ question-and-answer game.]

[And if we don't get our answer?]

[We go home and get the kids, we leave your beautiful house behind, and we thank God we still have each other.]

[No, please don't. Give me more time; I'll think of something. Please. Jack, you know they're not really hurting me; I'm just playing along. They can't even hold me; I'm gone as soon as I want. Let me handle this.]

A long pause, then he said, [If you can't roll these guys over after thirty-six hours, you never will; after that, I'm coming in, and there's no point arguing.]

_Noon Sunday; longer than I expected._ [Deal.]

[Okay. Now, how can I help from here?]

[Everything's waiting on your call. Make it, and things will start in motion.]

[I'll call about three; maybe if they're sleepy, they'll let something slip.]

[Catch a nap then, so _you'll_ be alert.]

[Wilco.]

[I love you, Jack.]

[Baby doll, I wish you were here with me.]

[Soon, love.]

III

At 3:11, her cell phone rang. She was alone in the room; after three hours of fitful sleep in the chair beside her, Luis had just left to use the bathroom. "Hey! Phone's ringing!"

She heard stirring in the nearest bedroom, two rooms away, then a burst of activity as doors slapped open and hurried footsteps approached. The phone fell silent as Ace burst into the room in his boxers. She eyed him sourly. "Smart move, leaving the phone with the one person who can't answer it."

"Where's the kid?"

"Don't know. He wasn't here when the phone woke me up."

He picked up the phone and checked the call log. "What kinda phone number is this? It's got _way_ too many numbers." Bennie and Chuck stumbled in, bleary-eyed but dressed in pants and T-shirts; Bennie seemed to be having trouble fastening the button on his waistband, as his fingers disappeared into the flesh under his ample belly.

"International call," she said. "He _is_ in South America, after all." _And how did you manage _that_, my resourceful hero?_ She watched Ace punch redial. "You sure you want to do that?"

He closed the phone. "Yeah, he'll call again, right?" It rang in his hand; he waited another ring, then made sure the speaker was on and opened it. "Yeah?"

"_I don't have much time before the satellite's out of range, so let's not screw around. Anything I've got is yours, but only if she's returned unharmed and you tell me how you found us. I can put a million in your hands by noon today; you want more, you've got to wait until I'm back in the States on Monday._" The line hissed with static, but Jack's voice was very clear and businesslike; he sounded like he was buying a car._ Jack, you'd better hope none of these guys knows that comsats don't operate this way._

"Well, if it ain't the bigshot international security man," Ace sneered. "Maybe you should work a little closer to home. If pickin up your little squeeze had been any easier, she woulda been an accomplice." He held the phone near her head. "Talk."

"Hi, love," she said. "Ace is right, I'm afraid - I really blew it. They picked me up at the market. The gun is still in the shop; it wouldn't have done me much good anyway. Sorry."

"_S'alright, doll. You okay? Bobby won't tell me what they left in the car, but it's got him ready to spit fire._"

She smiled. "Dirty pictures, wrapped in my street clothes. They dressed me up in an outfit that would make me feel _very_ naughty if you were here. Have you ever thought of handcuffing me to the bed?"

"_Never. I like what you do with your hands too much._"

Ace scowled and pulled the phone away. "Monday's two days away, Lynch. Better shag ass and get back here before then. Just bring the million; there won't be any trouble, but I don't want anybody but you to deliver it."

"_Just take the million now and walk away, Ace. Why do you want to see me?_"

"You don't remember me. You don't know my name, or recognize my voice." Ace's disappointment was clear.

"_Sorry, no. Should I?_"

"We're old buds, Jack. The million's just the down; the real payoff is three hours talkin old times with you. Tomorrow. In the parking lot where we picked her up."

"_No can do. I'm in Cavinas, in the middle of the East Bolivian floodplain. The nearest two-lane road is a day's hike away, and it's only graveled; impassable this time of year. I can travel by boat up the Beni or Madidi Rivers to an airstrip, but I won't get to a real airport before Sunday night._"

"That's a real shame. There's no TV in this dump, and the boys get restless, cooped up inside. Your little girl's real pretty."

The static on the line was building. "_I'll be there as quick as I can. I'll call when I get in. Ace?_"

The kidnapper smiled, clearly looking forward to hearing a plea or a futile threat. "Yeah, big shot?"

"_Try not to piss her off. She's sweet as candy most of the time, but when she gets mad, it's like she's another person. And she already thinks there's a special place in Hell reserved for kidnappers._" The call dissolved in static.

Ace stared at the phone for a moment, then closed it. "Think I'm worth killin now, big shot?"

"Fuck," Bennie said. "Forty years I been bustin heads for Bill and Billy and dodgin the man, and I got about enough cash put by to bury me. I still got ten years to pay on my _house_. And this guy can reach into his fuckin _pocket_ and pull out a million."

Ace cocked an eyebrow at her. "'Doll?'"

She smiled and batted her eyelashes. "He's a liberal-minded and educated man about most things. But when it comes to his women, he is _so _Mickey Spillane."

"What's a Mickey Spillane?"

"Oh, come on, you're old enough to know those books. Or don't you read for entertainment?"

Luis finally appeared, looking scared to see everyone in her cell, but kept quiet and listened.

Ace frowned at her. "What the hell are you talkin about?"

"Detective novels from the forties and fifties, with titles like _I, the Jury_ and _My Gun is Quick_: hard boiled tough guys, gun in one hand, drink in the other. Argues with a man, settles it with a haymaker to the jaw; argues with a woman, settles it with a kiss that makes her melt in his arms. You'd love em. Well, maybe not," she said. "You wouldn't like the way they all end. The good guy always gets the girl, and the guys like you-" she made a pistol of her thumb and forefinger; chained up, she couldn't point it, but he saw her thumb come down, the gun's hammer dropping, "-get it _right_ between the eyes."

III

Bennie said, "We're bein played. I can't figure how, but I feel it. They're just not actin right, neither of em." The kid had been sent to bed. They'd been sitting at the kitchen table for over an hour, beers in hand, figuring their next move; the sun was about to come up. He was ready to start right now, but Ace was in no mood for it.

"Think he'll show?" Benny knew what his brother was thinking: _He may not remember us, but he knows it's him we want, and that's not good for him._

"He'll show." That was Chucky, the optimist. "If we give him a chance, he won't buy her back; he'll kill us and take her. So we don't give him a chance."

Ace said, "You scared of him, Chucky boy?"

Chucky looked at his brother coolly. "I guess my memory must be better than yours. I don't want a repeat of last time, so how bout you save your braggin till _after_ we got him tied up? Then you can strut like a peacock for all I care. But we don't take any chances with him till then." The big mook took a breath and looked at him. "It's time to bring the kid into play."

He and Ace exchanged a look. "He hasn't made his bones." _Not that it matters, probably; odds are, he's not leaving this house, any more than Lynch or the girl._

"So let him. He's smart, and he knows how things work. He knows he's already seen and heard too much to _not_ get made, unless we plan to shut his mouth some other way. And it's _not_ certain yet how this is gonna play out with him. So keep our options open and our asses covered. Give him first crack at the little bitch. Let him make his bones and give her a nasty surprise at the same time." He looked at Bennie. "Shouldn't be hard to get him to do it; he knows what'll happen if he don't do as he's told. Just get him to have a little … enthusiasm for the job, some justification, a carrot to go with the stick, and we're on our way. You're the head-games specialist, Bennie. Convince him."

"Not yet," Ace said, reaching into his pocket for a bottle of aspirin. "I want a little time to think. I'm gonna sleep on this, for a coupla hours at least." Ace looked at him as he tossed a couple down and chased them with the last swallow of beer. "Stay outta there, Bennie. For now, if you can't sleep, you just think about talkin the kid around."

III

She lay listening to the voices in the kitchen, once again wrestling with the urge to break her bonds and do violence to her captors as they discussed turning her friend into a rapist. _If they convince or coerce him into it, how will I play it? Resistance isn't really an option, but should I try to talk him out of it? The physical part is nothing, but how could we still be friends, after?_ She was surprised to realize how much the boy's friendship meant to her. _Is it possible I'm feeling some analogue to Stockholm Syndrome? I can't deny the pull I feel when he's around; that reminds me of Bobby, too._

She felt Jack open com. [Baby doll, you there?]

[Where else would I be?] She tried to put some sunshine in her voice.

[Didn't get much out of them, did I?]

[Ace is playing it very close until he's got his hands on you, sweetheart; still, I think he told you more than he intended. Have you really never met?]

[I think I'd remember a jealous husband coming after me, even after twenty years.]

[After he hung up, he said something curious: "Think I'm worth killing now?" And he's not the only one who remembers you; one of the brothers, a big brute named Chuck, recalls a run-in with you that left a bad taste in his mouth.]

[Do you suppose I've got a twin?]

[They knew you by name, love.]

[I can't believe I don't remember these guys … or the woman we're supposed to be at odds over.] She heard him take a breath and hold it a moment. [What are they going to do? Before I get there, I mean?]

_Darling, try not to dwell on it. _[Well, since you hung up, they've been talking it over, mostly trading suspicions about how we don't seem scared enough. They've just made a decision to go to bed.]

[You're trying to make them sound harmless.]

[The only thing dangerous about them is the secret in Ace's head. Jack, they're almost your age, but they're not Gens, and they don't take care of themselves at all; if they get up to fun and games with their pretty little captive, it won't be more than a token. It would scarcely rate as a nuisance, like having someone sneeze on me. I'm almost looking forward to it; maybe they'll loosen up and talk afterward.] Dead silence on the other end of the link. [Jack, I'm not a helpless female in need of protection. I need a partner, not a rescuer. You're going to be adult about this, aren't you?]

[We made a deal. I'll stick to it, unless … I'll stick to it.]

[I love you, Jack. Go catch some sleep; I'll need you awake and alert if they let something slip later.]

[Call me, if they come for you.]

[Are you _crazy_? Do you think _I _am? That's when I'd _never_ call. You darling old fossil, you _are_ going to make this hard for me, aren't you?]

[No. Call me when you want; I'll be right in this spot, until your thirty-six hours are up.]

[I'm counting on you, Jack.]

He closed com without replying.

_I have today, tonight, and tomorrow morning, and then IO's primo killer comes through the door with blood in his eye. These oafs will never know what hit them, and I'll lose my chance to keep my house and start our family back on their way to a normal life. Maybe when they come in to impose themselves on me, they'll give me an opening to exploit; it would help if I knew what to look for, what's going on in their heads, what they intend._

She reviewed her experiences with her kidnappers, looking for dots and connections between. One puzzling observation surfaced again and again: the brothers were accomplished kidnappers … but inept ransomers. Sixty years before, the FBI had declared unlimited warfare on kidnapping for ransom in the United States, and had made successful instances of the crime as rare as smallpox. The weak spot in any such kidnapper's plan was collecting the money; unless the victims' families could be convinced not to call the authorities, kidnappers were routinely caught trying to collect the ransom. It took great skill to set up a money transfer that avoided apprehension.

The brothers didn't have it. They had given her and Jack too much freedom to talk on the phone; the two of them could have passed a great deal of valuable information in the idle chat Ace had allowed them. And only crooks who _wanted_ to be caught would arrange the pickup days in advance; no doubt all three of them would be there, too. These men had plenty of practice abducting people, but zero experience at giving them back for money. _Or, maybe, giving them back at all…_

"_This ain't no hooker, or a ditzy hitchhiker, or some drunken bar bag you pick up at closing time." Women whose disappearance wouldn't raise an alarm for a while. Maybe never, if no bodies turned up._

She turned her head and examined one of her wrist restraints. Until now, she'd assumed they were bought for this job, like the leather outfit; now she wasn't so sure. She enhanced her close vision, studying them as if under a magnifying glass. The moving parts showed signs of wear, and the inner edges of the cuffs were ground and scratched from multiple uses. Dark deposits lay revealed in the surfaces of the cuffs: minute, but clear to her enhanced sight, around the rivet heads, hinge, and the ratcheting piece; tight spots that would be difficult to clean. Next, she examined the chain: it was made up of fine links, and all along its length, she saw the same damning traces. The cuff attached to the bed was also stained. Now that she knew where to look, checking the other three sets took seconds.

Sometime in the past, all the restraints she wore had been bathed in blood.

_If these monsters try to cut or burn me, my cover's blown, and I fall back on plan B, which is looking better by the minute. Surely they'll save that sort of fun for last, after they've exhausted themselves on me, or worn me out as a sex toy … This could be a very long day, or a very short one. And it looks like it's going to start with Luis._

Yet again, she felt the urge to spill blood rise up, threatening to overwhelm her; she wrestled with it, casting about for a way to put it down. _Even in the mall, it wasn't half this bad; the monsters in the other room are striking a chord with the one in my head. Got to think of something else, put my mind in a better place. Call Jack? Not now, he's thinking along the same lines. The kids … yes. Pick a happy memory; something pleasant and warming. God knows you have enough on file…_

April 15 2006  
Escondido

The dance floor in the common room rang with the sound of electronic notes and heavy rhythm; Roxanne removed her hands from Anna's hips and stepped back. "Okay, we'll start with something simple." She turned sinuously, rocking her hips and lifting her arms high over her head.

Anna eyed the movement, which she was sure was more complex than it appeared. She tried to copy the steps, but she knew she looked graceless compared to her teacher.

Roxanne giggled and put a hand to her mouth. "Sorry. It's not bad, really; it's just that you're so _perfect_ about everything, it's weird seeing you unsure of yourself." Anna noted that the girl's violet eyes had lightened until they were almost luminous, a sign of pleasure.

Anna smiled at her. "I love the way your eyes change color."

"A lot of people's eyes do. I'm surprised they didn't build it into you."

"Oh, they did." Quick as blinking, she changed her eye color from gray-blue to violet.

Roxy's eyes widened. "Gawd. I didn't mean like that. Can you do other colors?"

"Sure." She copied the eye colors of each member of the household before returning to normal. "But I usually stick with my default setting."

"Can you do cat eyes?"

"No," she chuckled. "This is part of my disguise suite. They gave it to me so I could hide, not stand out. Sweetie, maybe teaching me to dance was a bad idea. I'm not sure I've got the articulation for it."

"You've got hip and leg joints like mine, Anna? Got a spine?" The girl grinned.

"Well, the hips and legs work pretty much the same way; my walk would look funny otherwise. The spine is different, though. I guess they couldn't resist making improvements."

"Let's see. Arch your back, like this." Roxanne's back flexed and bowed, showing the buttons of her vertebrae. Anna tried to copy the movement. "Gawd! It looked like you were cracking a whip. How do you _do_ that?"

"Different construction. Instead of rings of bone with pads of cartilage between, it's more like … overlapping sections of tubing, maybe, or the armor cable on a pay phone cord. Different, anyway."

"I'll say. Anna, I'm sure you can do anything I can do, you just need to learn how." She repeated the dance step. "You're watching my hips, right? Look at my feet instead; that's where it all starts. Start with that, and we'll sort of work our way up."

Ten minutes later, Roxanne said, "Sick. It's like dancing in front of a mirror. Now let's try something a little harder."

A few minutes later, the girl called a break and headed for the bathroom; Anna kept practicing, exhilarated by her success and the sensual pleasure of music and movement. _No wonder she loves to do this,_ she thought, _and no wonder boys love to watch her. Does Eddie feel this way when he performs a kata?_

"I'm not saying that, Bobby," came Sarah's voice from the loft, pitched low. "I was afraid you'd misunderstand." Anna glanced up for a few milliseconds and saw them standing at the rail, looking down. The music was still throbbing, and Sarah's voice was below normal conversation level; their talk would have been private to anyone but her. She continued her practice and listened, stealing the occasional glance upward.

"Well, do you think she's coming on to me, or don't you?"

"Bobby, she's monogamous as a swan, and her devotion to your dad is the stuff legends are made from. But she doesn't experience love the same way we do; none of it comes from her glands. I think there are … ambiguities in her programming language, I suppose. I could ask Kat about it, but it might make her uncomfortable."

"She loves us all, you know."

Sarah's hand slid over to his on the rail. "I know. And she likes to touch. But you're a special case, Bobby. Sometimes with you, her touches have … an intimacy that the rest of us don't get. You two cuddle a lot, and that's just fine; but if you ever kiss her while you're holding her like that, don't be shocked if she slips you some tongue."

"Hey…"

"It would be completely innocent - no more suggestion behind it than mussing your hair. But it's an automatic response with your father, and sometimes … she gets you mixed up. I'm not saying that she ever thinks you're your dad; I'm sure it has something to do with the way she imprinted on him. But there's some quality about John Lynch that he passed on to his son, something she recognizes and responds to. I doubt she knows what it is or what she's doing, but we all see it. She wouldn't _dream _of walking into the bathroom while _Eddie's_ taking a shower."

"Or slipping her hand inside his shirt."

"She's done that?"

"A time or two. She's noticed what you're talking about, Sarah; we've talked about it a couple times. She's got a handle on it. As long as I don't … if I act like it's nothing, it's not going to get out of hand. I just have to be careful with her in public." He smiled down at Anna as she danced, apparently oblivious. "Kind of flattering, actually. Had to put my foot down about walking into my room without knocking, though."

The CD ended, and the big room fell silent. Roxanne hadn't returned; out catching a smoke, Anna supposed. She glanced up at the railing, as if noticing them for the first time. She smiled and waved. "Hey, shikisin, can I borrow your man for a few minutes? I need to talk to him about something."

The two of them traded glances. "Sure. I'll be in my room later."

He watched Anna climb the stairs. "You heard."

"She meant me to. This is her way of making sure we talk about it. Which we haven't, you fibber."

"Didn't want her to worry about something between us. Things are shaky enough with me and her as it is."

"I think you've got her all wrong, baby," she said, slipping her hand in his. "She's concerned for us, not jealous." She tugged on his hand. "Walk with me?" They headed down the hall towards the back stairs, hands joined, brushing hips at every step. "She's right. We're overdue for a talk. She's right about the source of the problem, too. Though I'd describe it in different terms."

They reached the stairwell, and she led him up. "Why the roof?"

"Because I want some privacy, and I'm sure Roxanne's indulging her vice on the back patio."

The roof had recently been transformed. After a week of trying to sunbathe in the small, shady patio out back, the girls had moved to the roof. They'd found plenty of sun, but the vast expanse of black roof radiated heat, and the ten-foot brick wall on the front and sides of the space usually cut off any breeze. Shortly after the business at Chula Vista, when things had settled down, Roxanne had asked her about the plans she'd mentioned for a rooftop pool and garden. Then she'd talked to Jack. That evening, a ton of building material had arrived in the driveway. Roxanne and Caitlin had delivered it to the roof in the dead of night, and work had started the next day.

Everyone had lent a hand. Bobby and Eddie lacked experience, but the prospect of having a pool again made them enthusiastic helpers. Sarah had reclaimed some carpentry skills learned from her grandfather when she was small. Jack had donned a tool belt, treating a week of manual labor as if he were on vacation. Kat and Roxy made light work of moving and positioning the heavy timbers needed to assemble the framework for the above-ground pool and surrounding decking. And Anna had worked on the project every spare minute, around the clock.

They stepped through the door at the top of the stairwell and onto the roof. A wide boardwalk wound its way through a garden of potted plants, rising in a series of broad landings and terraces to the uppermost deck surrounding the pool, nine feet above the roof. The grade was so gradual that it seemed one was climbing a hill rather than stairs. Some of the terraces were decks in their own right: one held a conversation area around a fire pit; another, a table and gas grill, and a third held a row of deck chairs to augment the ones on the pool deck above.

She led him part way up, to a small landing surrounded by greenery, out of earshot from any part of the roof she couldn't see. A gentle breeze played over them, bringing the scent of flowers and other growing things.

"Romantic, huh?" She looked once again around the private little space; they were alone. She turned to him. "I love you, Bobby. In a way that's different from the others, or maybe just in addition to it. Sarah talks about 'imprinting' and 'programming,' and that's all right, but I think about it differently." She looked up at him. "What your dad and I have is magic. He affects me in ways that ought to be impossible. I don't understand it; before I fell under his spell, I wouldn't have believed it could happen. And he passed some of that magic on to his son. Look at this." She guided his hand to her wrist, and let him feel her pulse change to match his, beat for beat. "Happens every time I touch Jack – or you. I know you're your own person, but I can't look at you without a fleeting thought of him, or touch you without feeling him." She placed a hand on his chest. "I love you, Bobby; I don't want you to be embarrassed by me. Things don't have to be this way between us; I could train myself out of it."

"How?"

"Well, by not getting too close to you, for a start. I might seem to be treating you coldly, but it wouldn't be true; you'll always be my baby."

"I hope you've got a Plan B, Anna, cuz that one sucks." He brought an arm around her waist, and gently pulled her to him. "I _like_ being close to you. I'd have to have a screw loose to give that up, just cuz somebody might get the wrong idea."

"Oh, God," she said, "you're doing it to me _now_." She slapped his chest and stepped back. "There's another way. But I'd need your help."

"Anything. Tell me."

"You be my gatekeeper, Bobby. Establish a line I shouldn't cross, and call me on it every time I step over. Don't worry about being polite or hurting my feelings. Eventually we'll have every likely situation covered. It's slower and trickier, but I wouldn't have to act like a Stepford Wife around you."

"_Much _better plan." He held his arms out to her, and she stepped into them. He kissed her. She kissed him back, with her lips firmly closed. He jerked. "Hey! Hands off my ass!"

April 22 2006

"Well, good mornin, Sunshine," Bennie said to the kid as he slid into the living room and approached the kitchen. Bennie was sitting at the kitchen table across from Ace; Chucky sat on the couch with his nose buried in a paper he'd bought that morning. The kid filled a glass from the tap and downed it; it was about all there was for breakfast in the dump, unless you wanted to start your day with beer and cold pizza. Bennie took a quick glance at his brothers: they were primed and ready to play.

"So, kid, ready for your big day?" He could tell from the kid's face that he'd been looking for this, and dreading it every moment of the wait.

Ace took his turn; he glared at the kid. "About damn time. He knows too much already. I'm gettin tired of havin somebody I can't trust lookin over my shoulder."

Bennie pretended to ignore the remark. "So. You had a whole night since our little talk…" He indicated the bedroom door with a tilt of his head. "Did you put that extra time I gave you to good use? Tell it straight; no dancing around. Whaddaya think of her now?"

"I think she'll be glad to get back home."

Chuck set his paper aside, came into the kitchen, and handed Ace a ten. Without a word, he went back to the couch and picked up his paper, hiding his face behind the spread pages.

"You just lost your Uncle Chuck a bet, kid," Bennie said. "Ace said you weren't smart enough to figure it out. Me, I don't think you're stupid, just young and fresh. Besides, we already _knew_ what we were bringin back."

"What are you _talking_ about?"

_He sounds agitated; mad at us, or scared of what we'll say next? _"She's nice, huh? Pretty. Bet she talks sweet to you, maybe even smiles when you come in the room. Tell you her little secret yet?"

"What?"

"You know, nothing big really, just some embarassin little thing she doesn't tell just _everybody_. Cept you, cause she could tell right away you're special." _The way they've been chatting, she must have told him something personal; anything would do, really._ One glance at the kid told you he'd thought of something.

The paper shook in Chuck's hands as he snorted; Ace looked down at the table, grinning and shaking his head. The kid looked from one to the other, perplexed.

"Okay," Bennie went on, "so how about the crappy childhood story, she tell ya that one yet? About the time her dad touched her when she was eleven, or her mom got killed in a plane crash? Those are usually _real_ good." Now he and Ace laughed out loud; Chuck put down his paper and shook his head in disgust. "By now, maybe she even found a way to tell you you're cute without soundin like a slut, hey? Kid, every hooker ever coaxed a tip out of her john knows that shit. You got played."

"No."

"Yes. She tried to play _all_ of us, one at a time. Easy enough for her to figure out what _I_ want from her," he leered. "That time you walked in on us? That was by invitation. She said, and I quote, 'knock yourself out.' And even chained to the bed, she can do a bump-and-grind that'll take your breath away. I took everything she offered me, right up till she started whisperin little suggestions in my ear. Man, was she pissed when I walked out and left her!" He lowered his voice. "She knows her old man and Ace got some history, so she goes on and on to him about her wonderful Jack, tryin to goad him into doin somethin stupid, but it didn't work. She couldn't get a handle on Chuck; he shut her down quick. You musta been her last choice. It'd be easy for her to look like a poor little chickie, all alone and helpless, a damsel in distress who needed a friend and protector; she's no bigger than a minute. But neither's a scorpion."

The kid had_ you're lying_ written all over his face, but you could tell he was thinking about it. The purse was within reach; Bennie snagged it and slid it towards the kid. "You wanna know what you _really _been flirtin with, it's all in there." When Luis reached for it, Bennie put his hand over it and said, "Wait. You ever been in a woman's purse before?" He couldn't help feeling clever, pleased with himself at the double meaning and at the way the kid flushed when he got it. Bennie watched him carefully, saw him discard his first answer.

"No."

_Meaning yes. Probably his mom's, or his sister's. Good. I tell him something he knows is true first, it makes the rest easier to swallow. _"A chick's purse is usually a mess. Oh, it's got pockets on the inside sometimes, and they'll use em to keep their checkbook or their cellphone handy, but the rest of it's just a fancy sack, filled with crap: paperbacks, hairbrush, enough makeup to paint a house, card deck, old receipts, some kind of wallet to stuff her ID and some cash in, you name it. All jumbled together, so you gotta fish around for what you want. And the bigger the purse, the more likely she can't find a fuckin thing in it without dumpin it out on the table." He let go of it. "Open it up, and tell me what you see."

He glanced in, then up to meet Bennie's eyes. "It … looks like a tool belt, inside out."

"Uh huh. Or those vests the soldier boys wear, everything always in the same place and close at hand. Bet she could be drivin a car, or runnin flat out, reach in there without lookin at it and pull out _exactly_ what she wants, first try. Now take a look at the stuff inside, and tell me what you see. Except for the little case; we'll save that for last."

He watched him go through the ID and credit cards; he wished he could have taken a picture of the kid's face as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. "What is all this?"

"Well, I never seen a _purse_ tricked out like this; there's plenty of women in her line of work, but I don't know any. But we know guys who carry the exact same kit. The cash, the IDs, the credit cards; all stuff you need to travel someplace, spend a little time, and scoot back home again with nobody knowin you were there. This is the stuff a hitter takes on a job. And a gun, of course. Now open the case."

What he'd said sunk in just as the kid opened the case. As he stared at the brushes, Bennie said, "You ever seen a gun cleanin kit before? That one looks custom made; bet she spent some money on it." He caught the kid's eye. "_Nobody_ keeps a cleanin kit with them all the time unless they carry a _gun_ with them all the time; she must've had one in the car. But even knowin it was there, it was too well hid for us to find.

"You see, there's two different kinds of hitters. Mostly they're guys the Family sends to somebody's house or business. They walk in, put two in the guy's skull, and walk out; no biggie, just like takin out the garbage. Gettin away clean's the hardest part. But there's a small group, the ones who make the _big_ bucks, who they send after the high-profile guys with expensive security. When the Family needs to prove _nobody _who crosses em is safe.

"The special hitters are a whole 'nother breed of cat. Most of em are ex-military – or ex-somethin; there's government agencies into some nasty shit. They're gun nuts, blade nuts, death with their hands and feet; they can make a weapon or a disguise out of _anything_. I once knew a hitter, a thoroughly dangerous fucker, who could put his toe under the brake pedal of his car, stick his hand under the dash, tap the pedal twice, and a loaded thirty-eight would drop into his hand. The kill-crazy bastard had steel wires sewed into the shoulder seams of his shirts, too; if he didn't have a gun, he could open that seam up a little and pull the wire out. He'd use his socks for mittens to protect his hands, and he could strangle you or saw your head off with that wire."

He leaned across the table to the boy and spoke low and earnest. "_That's_ the kind of shit ol' Jack _really_ does for a livin; his little chickie too. That's the real reason we had to separate her from her car and her clothes and keep her from using her hands and feet."

"I don't believe it." But he said it so low you could barely hear it.

"Come on, just look at her old man. You really think people are jettin him all over the world to teach rent-a-cops how to handle crowds at soccer games? When we met him twenty years ago, the guy was sendin a _shipful_ of guns to Northern Ireland; he was a big-time hired killer even then. And that little doll in there works for him, might even be his partner. All that charm is just another part of her toolkit, kid. She was workin on you, tryin to make you feel sorry for her, protective; she'd have talked you into stealin the key to the cuffs and thinking it was _your_ idea. And as soon as you freed her, she'd have thanked you by putting her fist in your windpipe." He laid a hand over the kid's. "Sorry, but if we're gonna let you in, you had to know what we're dealin with, and what we might have to do if the deal goes sour; and now that we laid it out for you, you gotta join the club."

The kid could barely get it out. "What do you want me to do?"

Ace said it. "You gotta go in there and do the lyin cunt."

The kid looked aghast; Bennie stared at him, pretending to be puzzled, then letting comprehension dawn on his face. "Oh, Jesus, kid, not _that_!" He grinned. Then he wiped the grin off. "She just needs a little lesson, that's all. You go in there and show her how much good the little princess routine did her; what you think of her tryin to play you. Show her, as far as you're concerned, she's only good for one thing." He grabbed the kid's hand, turned it, and dropped a condom into the open palm. "Go in there and make your bones."

III

As soon as Luis shut the bedroom door behind him, she said, "Hi."

He made no reply, just stared at her.

"Your uncle talks really loud when he gets worked up about something."

Still no word from him; he approached the bed, slowly. She could hear his heart running at almost twice its resting rate, but his breathing was deep and controlled. Adrenalin, no pheromones to speak of. The boy was deeply angry. "Interesting bag you carry."

She shrugged. "I could give you an explanation, Luis, but it wouldn't be any more plausible than your uncle's. With no proof either way, you'd still just have to decide who you want to believe." _What am I doing, trying to talk him out of it? They'll kill him if he refuses._

She forced her face to assume a look of easy calm. "Oh, hell, what am I saying? You got me cold. Fine. Don't think you wouldn't have done the same, choirboy."

"So, you're saying it's all true."

"More or less. Your uncle overplayed my enthusiasm for the feel of his grubby paws." She smiled faintly.

"Annalise-"

"That's not my name. I made it up."

He stood over her. "You still look like a fairy princess."

"It's how I get close. They never see it coming." She shifted. "You know, this doesn't have to be tragic." She smiled up at him. "I kinda like it rough anyway. And I wasn't lying when I said I thought you were cute."

His mouth twisted. "You must think I'm an idiot."

"No, no. Just young and inexperienced. Getting you to steal a key was the best I could hope for. Speaking of which, if you could talk your uncle into unlocking my ankles, I could make this a lot better for you, and easier for me." She let the smile fade. "No, guess not." She lay back, looking at the ceiling. "Okay. Ready when you are."

He didn't move. His heart rate slowly dropped as he calmed down._ Must have decided._ But the way he stared at her made her want to squirm.

"Well? Come _on_, you little punk, make your bones."

He stood over her, staring down, silent.

"What, I'm not good enough for you anymore, is that it? I know guys, _plenty_ of guys, who'd take a _number_ for a shot at me _just_ like this."

"I don't doubt it," he finally said. "But I bet none of them are friends." He bent over her. "Yeah, you think I'm stupid and easy to manipulate, don't you? You don't think much of my memory either. 'Don't cross them, Luis. They're crazy. They're dangerous, do what they tell you. Just go along with whatever they want, and everything will work out. Just play along, play for time. I'm a tough girl, I can handle it.' You really thought I'd come in here, demanding an explanation. Well, I am." He touched a finger to her temple and showed her a glistening tear. "Explain this."

III

"Kinda quiet in there. Think he got started yet?" Ace was twitchy. He stared at his cards without looking at them.

"Probably workin up to it, tellin her what he thinks of her, maybe listenin to her deny it all. Give him some slack; it's his first time."

"Or maybe she's talkin him back around." They looked at each other, then got up from the table and pressed their ears to the bedroom door.

"Luis, will you _listen_? Please. It isn't what you think, you've got it all wrong. Don't do this. It would be a terrible mistake."

"Bullshit. You've been trying to maneuver me since I walked through the door. I don't believe a word of it. I know what you're up to, and it's not going to work. You just lie quiet and stop lying to me, while I decide what I want to do first."

They went back to the table, grinning.

III

"If I had a bar or something, maybe I could break the headboard apart and slip the cuffs out." He looked around. "There's got to be _something._"

"There's not. I've watched them open every drawer in that dresser, and there's nothing else in the room. The floor lamps are flimsier than the bed; you'd wreck them to no effect."

"Well, they'll make decent clubs." He grasped one. The cord popped out of the wall as he lifted it off the floor.

"No! Don't! _Wait!_"

III

The brothers quit pretending to play cards; Ace put his down. "Showtime. Better get in there."

From the couch, Chucky rumbled, "Jesus, give him some time to settle into the saddle. We want this to go off right, don't we?"

Ace frowned. Plainly, he wanted to be a part of the little bitch's humiliation. Bennie could sympathize; listening to her cry out like that was getting _him_ hot, too. "A kid his age, it might be all over in thirty seconds."

"Then we have him do it again," Chucky said. "Kids that age can also _do_ it five times a night. Have a little patience."

III

She hissed, "Do you want to get us _both_ killed, you idiot?"

He held the floor lamp in both hands like a bat and turned towards the door. "Is this when you tell me about the better plan you've got?"

"Baby, please don't," she said, as tears blurred her vision. _Why did I call him that?_ "Please. They'll kill you … and I'll be all alone with them." _For about six seconds; then I'll be all alone. _

That stopped him cold. He turned back to her. "You know, damsels in distress aren't usually such pains in the ass."

"So you don't think I'm a contract killer?"_ Would I really break cover to avenge him? Maybe; but I'm certain, now, that I'll do it to save his life. Why? Can a machine intelligence develop Stockholm Syndrome?_

"Here's what I think," he said, as he set down the lamp and knelt by the bed. "I think you're keeping a lot of secrets, and you play fast and loose with the truth even when you're not lying outright. I think you own a gun, and you usually keep it close, and you're good with it; and you wouldn't have any trouble shooting somebody if you thought it was a good idea. And I think, despite all that, you're a good person and you don't deserve what they've done to you, much less what they've got planned. But," he finished softly, "if we live through this, we're going to have to redo every conversation we've ever had. I think I'm about due for a solid dose of truth from you." He slapped his forehead gently. "Quintuplets. I can't _believe_ I fell for that."

"Um. That was true."

"Truth? Don't bullshit me any more, Anne."

"I'm keeping too many secrets that aren't mine to give away, Luis. If you ask me the wrong question, I might have to refuse to answer. Or I may tell you the truth but not all of it; you'll have to be careful about the conclusions you draw. Aside from that, no more lies. It's the best I can do."

"Okay. Good enough."

"Okay. The others didn't die; we were raised without parents in … call it an institution. We were separated when I was very young; I don't have many memories of them, and the ones I have aren't very pleasant. But they're all still alive, as far as I know."

He parted his lips, as if to speak, but remained mute.

"And there _is_ a name I don't like to hear." She shifted. "Not Annalise. I did make that up; the girlfriend who calls me Tinkerbelle is named Elise. It just sounded pretty."

His eyes bored into hers. "Tell me."

She closed her eyes. "'Two'."

"Two? The number two?"

Eyes still closed, she nodded.

"As in 'two of five'? They numbered you, like a damn Borg?"

"It was convenient, I guess. I'm not really sure if Anna's my real name. And aside from covers, the only last name I've ever had is 'Lynch'."

He was silent for a long minute. "How are we going to get out of this?"

"We play for time. We wait for Jack. If we can, we find out how your uncle found Jack, and what else he knows."

"'Play for time.' Anne, making your bones is something you have to do in front of witnesses. They're not going to take my word for it; before long, they're going to be in here … to watch." He stood up. "That's not going to happen."

"It wouldn't be rape, Luis. It'd be help."

"No." He reached for the floor lamp again.

She sighed. "If they just watch from the door, we've got a chance. But you'll have to throw away your modesty. We'll have to be undressed and touching like we're doing one of those awful movies. And we're both going to have to ignore..." She looked up at him. "Remember it's just reflex, Luis. Something that doesn't have to come between us and ruin our friendship." The risk was enormous; if they were caught, it would be at least as bad as if he'd refused outright, maybe worse. She knew she should press harder for the only safe solution, but she felt a strange reluctance to buck him, an inclination to yield to his resolve that went against her own judgment. "How much realism are you prepared to give them, Luis? What will it take to fool them?" _Nothing short of the real deal, is my guess; but maybe, if I can ease you into it …_

The boy shrugged. "I don't know."

"Then you have to promise me you'll go through with it if we have to. _Listen_," she said as he opened his mouth to protest. "I know you're not your penis, Luis. You're my friend. You're a wonderful man, noble and kind and suicidally stubborn, and I love you for it." She moistened her lips. "There, I've said it. And that's not going to change if you … empty yourself into me while I'm chained to this bed. Luis, you _do_ know that some girls do this for fun, right? They have their boyfriends tie them up like this before sex; they enjoy it."

"They've got a choice."

"So have I. I can talk you into this or let them kill you. Like my son says, we've always got choices, but sometimes every one of them sucks."

III

"It's quiet in there again." Bennie watched Ace's face cloud up.

"Just a couple more minutes."

"Fuck it." His brother stood up. "Either he's gonna do it or he's not. Maybe we can still get some leverage out of him if we put a gun to his head in front of her." He slid the chair back, and took a step around the table, when the girl cried out.

"No, no, please, wait, wait, _aaayuhuh_!" As they moved quietly to the door, several thumping noises followed; then, every few seconds, she made a grunting, huffing sound, as if she were serving a tennis ball. "Hunh … uhh … ohh …"

He looked at Ace. "Docking maneuver complete."

"Maybe." Ace cracked the door, and Bennie peeked in. "_Damn_."

The kid was kneeling between her legs with his pants down around his knees. His hands were under her ass, lifting it off the bed; her little vest was still on but the leather thong hung from one post of the footboard. He was_ hammering_ her; the chains on her ankles drew taut with a soft _tung_ at every stroke, and every third or fourth forced the breath out of her. Her hands flailed helplessly at the ends of their tethers; her head rolled from side to side, her eyes alternately squeezed shut or blankly open, the picture of enduring misery. "Huuk … haaah ... huhh …"

"Bitch," he said, as the ankle chains went taut. "Liar. Whore. Trollop." He punctuated each epithet with a hard thrust that made her gasp. The kid became aware of them; he stopped, pulled away and covered his privates with both hands as he turned his head towards them, while the girl panted, swallowing. "Do you _mind_?"

"Not at all," Ace said, and pushed into the room, Bennie following close behind. Behind him, he heard Chucky rise and follow them in.

No one could have missed the trapped look in the boy's eyes. "I _can't, _not while you're watching." But the way he held himself showed that he was still erect, even kneeling there immodestly in a room with three threatening men.

"Kid," said Chucky from behind him, "you can't _not_ do it while we're watchin."

The girl looked up at the kid, eyes big as a deer's. "Luis. Please. _Please_." She blinked, and her lashes were jeweled with tears.

Bennie snorted. "Shit, hear that? She's beggin for it. How can you say no to her?"

Luis raggedly exhaled the breath he'd been holding, rocked forward, and reached for her. Bennie raised his camera, and a flash lit the room briefly as he took a picture of the crime.

III

Afterwards, Luis slid silently off the bed and pulled his pants up, head down, not looking at her. She listened to his breathing and heart, and knew he was near tears.

Ace grinned. "Guess _this_ is a story you won't be tellin your butt buddies at seminary school."

_Seminary school? _Realization struck. _His first time – ever? _She turned her head to face Ace. "You bastard. You put him up to this."

A dark smile spread across his face. "Didn't take your little boyfriend long to acquire a taste, though, did it? I'd say you broke him in right. Careful, dearie," he said softly. "Your mask is slippin."

The boy faltered, and then resumed putting himself together. He left, still without looking at her; watching him go without being able to speak a word of comfort to him was the worst moment of her life.

"What a prick," Benny said. "Didn't even promise to call." Ace laughed as if his brother had told the funniest joke he'd ever heard. "Ah," he said, pretending to wipe his eyes, "silly bitch, you should see your face. Gonna miss your little boyfriend? Better than Lynch's shriveled cock, hey?"

She became excruciatingly aware of him as a mass of soft and fragile flesh. _Meat_. She could kill him in milliseconds; the chains wouldn't even slow her down. Carefully, she said, "Jack has more manhood in … his little finger than all three of you eunuchs combined. You can _feel _it. Every woman he's ever met wants him. When he walks into a room, they turn to him like flowers to the sun; they don't even notice the scars." She stared into Ace's darkening face. "And no woman he's ever had will settle for a lesser man."

The chair fell over as Ace shot to his feet. _Reach for your knife, meat; reach for my throat. Force my hand._ The air was thick with fight-or-flight hormones. Three heartbeats in the room revved up; she felt like a turbine spinning up, waiting for the flip of a lever to set the powerful machinery into unstoppable motion. She trembled; her motion controller was balanced on a knife's edge. The slightest threat now would tip her into combat mode … and open the Alpha file. _And if Luis walks in while I'm butchering everyone in the room? Will I be able to stop myself from killing him?_ The trembling stopped; she regained control and waited.

Ace stared at her; the murderous rage was still in his eyes, but his voice was low and tightly controlled. "You had a rough morning, pixie stick. Rest up for a while. Bennie, let's go finish our game." Chucky trailed them to the door, and then turned back, studying her another moment.

As soon as she was alone, she opened com. [Jack?]

His reply was immediate. [Here, baby doll. Do you have something?]

[No, not yet. I just wanted to hear your voice.]

[What is it? What's wrong?]

[Opening round, I guess. There's someone else here besides my three kidnappers: a boy. Young man, really; supposed to be a sort of apprentice hood. He's sweet, and he's tried to be kind. I got a little friendly with him; big mistake. They tortured him in front of me, made him give up something he treasured and destroyed it.] She felt tears trickling down her temples.

[This isn't working. Let's end it now, before it gets any worse.]

[Jack, I want my thirty-six hours.]

[I'm glad you weren't this stubborn when I met you.]

[Didn't have as much to lose.]

[Darling, it's just a house. A beautiful house, but we can build another.]

[We won't have time. We'll never spend long enough in one place. Love, it's our way of life I'm doing this for, not bricks and paint and appliances.]

52


	3. The Believer

Ace was at the kitchen table, staring at his cards, when the kid came in with his hair still damp from the shower. Ace felt almost benevolent towards him; knocking the little bastard's halo off his head made him a lot easier to look at. He didn't even get irritated when the kid headed for the bedroom door. "Hold it. Where you think you're goin?"

The kid stood at the door with one hand on the knob and stared at him, trying to think of something to say. Bennie stared at his cards, trying to keep a straight face. Chucky sat on the couch, looking over his paper at everybody else, thinking God knows what.

Ace gave a small shake of his head. "You're not thinkin this through. I suppose you wanna go in there and talk to her some more. Bad move. What you got to talk about now? The weather? You wanna tell her again how pissed you are at her? You already showed her. From now on, unless she calls out, there's only one reason to go in there. One. Understand?"

Bennie looked at him over his cards, right on cue. "Bein a little hard on him, Ace."

"You know what she's like. She's an expert. She'll have him fuckin _apologizin _to her before he comes back out, and we'll be at square one again." He reached for his wallet, pulled out a fifty, and motioned the kid to him. "Take this and go get us some pizza."

The boy reluctantly took his hand off the knob. "Where are the keys?"

Ace shook his head. "Walk. It's only three miles; should be just enough time to clear the pussy fumes outta your head." He picked up his cards. "All right, where were we?"

The kid left without asking what they wanted on the pies; Chucky turned his head to watch him out the window. "Gone."

He and Bennie set their cards down. "I notice you didn't call it in," his brother said. "Two hours, maybe. How you wanna start?"

He thought about the little bitch's eyes when she'd told him he wasn't good enough for his wife. Or her. "'Rodeo' sounds about right."

Ben's eyebrows gathered. "You sure you don't wanna keep that one back? You know, till we're closer to the end? Just in case."

"No point in startin off easy. Not with this one." He looked at Chucky.

Chuck shrugged and set his paper down. "Your show. I'd rather put a bullet in Lynch as soon as he clears the door, anyway."

III

[Jack, I think it's about time to sign off for a while.]

[What's going on?]

She'd been listening to the conversation in the next room, her apprehension growing. [I think the boys are coming in to gloat. I'd rather not try to talk to them and you at the same time, love; might mix my signals.]

[Anna, are you sure?]

[I'm not sure about anything; I'm just muddling through as best I can. Now stop distracting me; I'm busy.]

[I'll be right here.]

[Counting on it, love.]

They came through the door and set to work without a word, moving with the same practiced ease they'd shown when they'd kidnapped her, and later, when they'd moved her into the house. Bennie unlocked the cuffs at the headboard rail one at a time and reattached them to verticals, so that they slid freely up and down; then he did the same with her ankle chains. Chuck brought in the cushions from the couch, lifted her with one arm, and placed the cushions under her, raising her almost a foot off the mattress. Ace produced his knife; looking into her eyes, he touched the cool metal to her bare stomach, and then inserted it between her skin and the corset. The blade was razor sharp, and parted the straps one at a time as he drew it upward. When the garment lay loose on her, he cut it away at her shoulders and whisked it off. _Guess we're going au naturelle from here._

They stood silently over her. _Admiring their work, maybe; or waiting for me to say something. Or offering a silent prayer to some dark god, before they begin their ceremony._ Ace spoke first. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Nothin to say?"

"Not yet."

"No questions?"

"One. What's a pixie stick?"

He blinked and let out a breath. "Pah. You're shittin me."

"No. I know what a pixie is. What's a pixie stick?"

He leaned over her and said in a low voice, "It's cheap candy. Just sugar with a little flavor and food color in a paper straw. You just take a little taste at a time, you can keep closin it up and make it last a _long_ time. Or you can pour it all into your mouth and get a rush that's gone in a second. Half the fun is seein how long you can keep it goin without finishin it off." He showed his teeth, but the expression wasn't a smile. "Ready for a new game?"

"It's a very old game, Ace. Use me all you want, but _I_ won't be playing." She stared at the ceiling.

"Oh yeah? You think you're gonna lay there like a sandbag, kitten?" He looked at Bennie. "Give her a taste."

Bennie produced a pair of wide leather belts._ Disappointing. I hadn't expected them to beat me before they raped me. Is there any point in waiting for them to notice they're not leaving welts?_ She began to slide into alert mode.

Instead of whipping her, he threaded the end of each belt into the other's buckle, creating an adjustable loop with two loose ends. He stepped behind her, between the headboard and the wall. Then he brought the loop over her head, with a buckle on either side, and snugged it around her neck. He held the ends of one belt in each hand. Then he pulled up, hard, hanging her by her neck and at the same time closing her airway. In full alert mode, time sense stretched out, giving her a chance to analyze this new situation. _These guys are obsessed with asphyxiation. They're watching, expectant. They've already seen me gasp for breath; what am I supposed to do? Thrash?_

_Survival instinct. If I were a bio, I'd be frantic for a breath of air. I can't pull myself up; no purchase on the chains with them attached like this, and my arms and legs hanging off the cushions..._

_Oh, you clever bastards._

She heaved her shoulders up off the mattress, using a calculated amount of strength. _Not enough. _She thrust her hips upward, trying to add some bounce, and was rewarded by a tiny breath before she fell back, closing the noose even tighter. Again and again, she threw her hips and then her shoulders upward in an attempt to draw a quick breath before her head fell back. She carefully calculated the amount of air she was taking in, estimating how long an air-breathing bio could keep this up before hypoxia overcame her. Eventually she let her efforts weaken until she was scarcely twitching.

Finally, Bennie released her, and she took in whoops of air, coughing at every exhale, until her oxygen balance would normally be restored. Throughout the ordeal, Ace stared at her with his wolf's grin. When she was finally breathing normally, he said, "Gettin you to move your ass is the _easy_ part. The challenge is hangin _on_. That's why we call this one 'Rodeo.'"

_This is a miserable substitute for sex. But it's scary and humiliating and shows your power over me, and that's what really gets you off, isn't it, boys? I wonder if you ever go too far with it, and find yourself inside a corpse. Do you finish up anyway?_

Ace pulled off his shoes, pants, and boxers, but left his socks and both his shirts on. _Figures. Big tough gangster, afraid to let his brothers see his pasty bare behind. _He climbed into the bed and positioned himself between her legs. Above and behind her, Bennie said, "Doesn't have to be like this when it's my turn. Be nice and we'll forget about the belt."

Memories of the lab rose to mind: her enclosure being opened each morning, and Alistair's face poking in, asking the same question. _Promise to be a good girl, cooperate with my tormentors, in return for a tiny taste of freedom that's really just a slightly larger cage? I think I'm done with that._ "At the risk of repeating our earlier conversation, fuck you, Bennie. Second best is all you get from me."

The belts jerked up. "Fine then. Second best it is … and _lots_ of it."

Ace opened a condom and began to apply it. "Anything clever to say? Choose your words careful. They might be your very last."

Bennie slacked off on the belts. She looked down at Ace and said, clearly and carefully, "I would bet anything I've ever owned that you're utterly worthless in bed. And that Jack wasn't the first time she cuckolded you, not by a score of men."

The belts came up so hard her shoulders lifted off the cushions.

A long weary time later, she realized she must be dying. Rather, she estimated that the treatment they were subjecting her to would bring any normal human to the point of death. They were cutting off her air for too long, and giving her too little time between sessions. Chuck only sat and watched, but the other two seemed inexhaustible, trading places as soon as they finished; each man had raped her in this manner three times already. _Where do guys this old and out of shape get the juice?_ Staying in character, she calculated the extent of her feigned hypoxia, and had let her attempts to ease her breathing grow feebler and feebler as her strength dwindled. Some time during this ordeal, she remembered tears, and let them stream down her face.

[Anna.]

_Dear God, NO! _[Jack, I'm busy, love. I've _got_ to go.] She broke com.

_They have to know they're killing me. They've done this before; they must know how much of this their victims can take. _Clearly, they were so caught up in the pleasure of their act, they were no longer willing to slack off their fun, even to save her for later use. _Later, no doubt, they'd kick themselves for getting so carried away, while they sent Luis out into the back yard with a shovel._ As Bennie knelt between her legs for his fourth go at her, and Ace yanked the belts up savagely, she quit moving entirely and stared blankly at the ceiling. _Last chance, guys. Take the hint._

Chuck reached for Bennie's shirt collar and pulled him off her. The fat man squalled and tumbled to the floor. Then Chuck reached for the belts and yanked them out of Ace's grip. "Changed my mind. I'm takin a turn." She choked, coughed, and let her chest heave raggedly as the brothers talked.

"Jeez, you coulda waited."

"No, I couldn't. I'm not into necrophilia." He unbuttoned his shirt.

"Necro-what? So what are ya doin now?" Ace sucked at the webbing between his right thumb and forefinger where Chuck's act had friction burned it.

Chuck glared at him. "I don't tell you how to have _your_ fun." She noted that his chest was lean and well-muscled for a man his age, and lightly carpeted with dark curly hair like Jack's. His penis was an exclamation point rooted in the thick salt-and-pepper brush. He fetched the sheet and brought it back to the bed.

"What are ya _doin_?"

"What's it look like? I don't need to leave _my_ bare ass hangin out either, Bennie."

"Sure you don't want to use the belts? If she was ever gonna move her ass for ya, she ain't now. I don't think she's got it in her anymore." Ace's voice was oily with satisfaction.

"She'll give me what I want. _Exactly _what I want, or else." He knelt between her knees and whipped the sheet, bringing it floating down over their legs. She continued to pant, slower now, coughing and swallowing every third breath or so.

"Hey," Bennie said. "Your rubber."

"Forget that," he replied. "You worried about catchin somethin from _this_?"

"No way, but the rubber's lubed."

Chuck leveled a stare at his brother. "How long we been doin this shit? How many _years_?" His head twitched slightly. "You been pumpin her for an hour and a half, almost nonstop. Even if she hated every _second_ of it, she's lubed up plenty by now."

_Is that true? Is it a normal reaction? He's so certain, he must be telling the truth._ She released a generous amount of lubricant. _Hope Luis comes back soon; between all the gasping and panting and crying, my tank is running low. What's Chuck up to? Surely he wasn't just overcome with lust for my skinny bod._

Chuck leaned forward over her, drawing the sheet up to chest level as he did so. It was the first time any of them had lay on her, but Chuck took most of his weight on his elbows, resting lightly on her; just the slightest scratch of chest hair on her heaving sternum and belly. She felt him harden as he pressed against her crotch. "Just listen, don't talk," he growled into her ear. His breath smelled of cigarettes. "Not a peep or a groan. Don't move, either. You just lay nice and still and breathe while you can, while I take my time with you." He slid into her and started moving, very slowly. She lay still, letting her breathing return to normal. Chuck moved slowly, _cautiously_, as if he were avoiding stimulation rather than seeking it. Suddenly she realized what the big man was doing.

_He's saving my life. If he'd protested, they'd have just gotten angry and gone back to their fun until I was dead – or rather, until still being alive would be too suspicious, and I'd have been forced to break cover. If this is an act of kindness, it's the weirdest I've ever experienced. Strange to think that rape, like love, comes in a variety of flavors._

She felt him pause. "Hey. Cut it out." He spoke into her ear, still not looking at her face. His voice was low and casual, pitched for her hearing alone. She stared at him, confused. _Cut what out?_ Then, horrified, she realized what she'd been doing while she was musing about kindness and love with him inside her. Her motion controller had responded normally to the stimuli of lovemaking while she'd let herself be distracted. She'd been moving with him, matching his languorously slow and gentle rhythm. As if she was a participant rather than a helpless victim. As if she'd been conspiring with him to make an act of intimacy out of an act of violation. As if she was joined in love with this monster, instead of being taken by force.

Even more horrifying was Chuck's lack of surprise. _Does it happen often, that the women these men abuse … find themselves responding unwilling to their treatment? No wonder the experience is so traumatic, why the survivors can't forget. Long after the rape is over, the questions and self-doubt remain._

"Somethin wrong, Chucky? Gonna need a persuader after all?"

"Forget about it, Ace. She just squirmed a little, that's all. Why don't you two go play cards and wait for the kid? He's about due." He stopped and looked at them. "Go on. _I_ don't need a fuckin babysitter."

Ace glanced at Bennie and grinned. "I dunno. I'm enjoyin this, kinda. The looks on her face are worth payin to watch. What'd you do to her just a minute ago, when her eyes got big as saucers?"

"I finally put it all the way in, _little_ brother. Get the hell outta here."

Ace frowned, gathered Bennie by eye, and disappeared through the door.

III

Bennie closed the bedroom door quietly, after a few moments watching his older brother trying to break the little bitch's back. All the slow-mo stuff had ended once she had her breath back. "Jeezus. I hate it when he gets like that."

"Just be glad he's got somethin to take it out on. I think he's still pissed off we didn't let him shoot her. And I'm half sure he was tryin to do her with that punch to the gut." Ace shuffled and dealt a hand. "What's he doin in there?"

"I thought the _kid_ was hittin her hard. Jeezus. Her ankles are gonna be bleedin."

"What do _you_ care?"

Ace was thinking about her last words to him, Bennie was sure. _I thought he was gonna kill her right there and then. He sure as hell was gonna see her dead before we took the straps off her throat._ _Kind of a good thing Chucky called cuts. Otherwise, I wouldn't have got my chance to pick the next game. _"Because blood makes for a slippery grip. And tape won't stick to it."

III

When Chuck finished, he removed his hand from her mouth; she'd let out a grunt about halfway through, and instantly his huge hand had been over her mouth without breaking rhythm. Some impulse had made her whimper against the pressure of his hand at the end, and leak a single tear. He brushed his fingertips against her temple, wiping it away. She turned her head away. He rose to his knees and pulled the sheet off, using it to wipe them both, then he balled it up again and tossed it back in the corner as he got off the bed and reached for his clothes.

Chucky dressed, took the chair by the bed, and fished his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. He lit up and blew out a cloud of smoke, never saying a word or looking her way. Fifteen minutes passed in this way. In the next room, she heard Luis return and be immediately sent back out on another errand. _They're coming back_, she thought._ If it weren't for this strange man, I'd have had no break at all. They'd have "killed" me, or driven me into some desperate mental corner, and the Alpha file would have opened up like a poisonous flower. I'd have killed them, and all this would have been for nothing._ In a voice so small she didn't think he could hear, she said, "Thank you."

He stubbed the cigarette out on the side of the chair and dropped it. "You think I did you a favor, you got _no_ idea what's gonna happen, the next couple days." He lit another, still not looking at her.

"Horror," she whispered.

"What you gone through so far isn't a warm-up; the boys haven't even got their tool kits out of the car yet. So keep your thanks." He puffed a bit and nodded towards the kitchen. "Right now, they're tryin to decide what they're gonna do to you next, lookin for a way to adjust your attitude; it's all they can think about. They don't want to leave marks, so you'll look fresh and unforced when Lynch sees you. But if something doesn't break loose with you, they'll stop caring about that; they won't even care if you're still alive when he gets here." He took another big drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "You're stubborn. I think you've seen the last of your man."

_What's he trying to tell me? What's he trying to get me to do? Is he trying to help me or play me? What should I do?_

He continued, staring at the wall, apparently talking to himself in an empty room. "Another thing: what happened to you a little while ago. Not what we did to you, how you reacted. We been doing this for years, and it happens almost every time. Sometimes they even come." He took another drag. "Your body… didn't betray you; it's just trying to make sense of what's happening to it. It's just a reaction, like crying when you're hurt, or sneezing when something goes up your nose; doesn't mean, deep down, you liked it, or you did something to deserve it, or whatever screwy thought goes through a twat's head when it happens."

"Thank you." Another bare whisper.

"If you _did_ start actin like you were enjoyin yourself, it'd ruin their fun." He crushed out the cigarette, the fifth since he'd finished with her; the air in the room was thick with the smell of it, and other odors. "One last thing. The kid." He lit a sixth cigarette.

_Why doesn't he just light one off the other; why does he crush each one out first?_

_Because, each time, he tells himself he's done, then he's compelled to do another._

"You might've figured out what he's doin here by now; if not, you will, cause you're smart. Turning him against you was Bennie's play, but it was my idea. Luis can't do a thing for you except care, and that's dangerous. Now he's safe, for a while, but it was a close thing." He shook his head as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Caught him digging through the back wall, like a fuckin prison movie, without a thought how he was gonna get you outta the handcuffs and off the fuckin bed. If it had been Ace caught him, or even Bennie, he'd be dead now. " He coughed, a few polite little throat-clearers. "I might still be able to get him out of this alive, but not if he lifts a finger to help you. If you care about him, you'll let him keep thinking you're a cold-blooded little killer whose luck ran out." He crushed out the last cigarette. "Nothin like a smoke after sex."

The door opened.

"Or maybe just before."

III

No more than a couple minutes after the noise Chucky was making in the bedroom subsided, the side door opened and the kid came in with three pizzas. His face was shining with sweat; he must have run with the boxes in his arms. Ace looked at his watch. "Good time. Chucky'd be proud of ya."

He set the boxes on the counter and glanced around. "Where is he?"

Ace looked at his cards.

Bennie said, "Dunno. He wasn't here when I came back from the can. What do you want him for?"

"Nothing." He started towards the bedroom door.

"Hold it." Ace put his cards down. "Where the fuck you think _you're _goin? You didn't forget what I said _already_."

The kid took his hand off the knob. "Seems quiet in there."

"She's probably sleepin off her morning workout." Ace made a show of looking at the boxes. "Where's the cheesecake?"

"What cheesecake?"

"Jesus _Christ_. I told ya ta bring back cheesecake. There's a little shop two doors down from the pizza joint sells New York style, so _they_ say."

"You didn't say anything about cheesecake."

His brother glowered. "You callin me a liar?"

Had to give him credit, the kid didn't back down. "I'm saying you're mistaken."

"You think I gave you fifty for three fuckin pizzas?"

"I don't know what you were thinking. But you didn't order cheesecake."

Ace's mouth thinned to a line. "Fine then. I gave ya the money for it. Maybe I forgot to tell ya. But you know _now_. Shag ass back there and get three slices. Four, if you want one," he added generously. He picked his cards back up. "Whose turn?"

Bennie saw the kid to the door. "Don't bust ass getting back," he said in a low voice. "_I_ don't remember him askin for it either. By the time you get back, he'll probly forget again. Take your time, save your strength." He grinned evilly. "Maybe your girlfriend'll be awake, and _you'll_ be in the mood for dessert."

When he shut the door, he turned to his brother. "That was fuckin _brilliant_. Did you plan that?"

Ace grinned back at him. "By the time he puts in twelve miles today, maybe he'll be too tired to care what we did with his little bitch while he was gone." He put the cards down. "Well? No use lettin it get cold." He wasn't talking about the pizza. "Whatcha got in mind?"

He'd been looking at a broom with a thick wooden handle, standing against the wall by the fridge. He laid it on the table with the head hanging over and kneeled on it. "Gimme a hand." Together they snapped the head off, then reversed the handle and broke it again, eight inches from the end. He dressed the broken ends some by tapping them on the floor. "You know, you might've let me use one of your saws for this."

"Not what I brought em for. The tool box'll come out when it's time to use _everything_ in it."

Ace watched as Bennie pulled a roll of duct tape from the drawer, then went to the fridge and got out the block of butter that their houseguest had brought with her.

"Short one goin where I think it is?"

"Yup. We're playin 'Double Header.'"

"Grease it up good then. I don't want her tore up and bleedin. Yet."

III

She watched the other two brothers pause at the door with some disquieting objects: two unequal lengths of broom handle, duct tape, the pound of butter she'd brought in her sack. She sensed the sick excitement building in them, from the chemicals that oozed from their pores and their groins, and fought the rage building inside her as a swimmer struggles against the surf. She forced herself to assume a stuporous calm as they entered with their tools. _Stay quiet, docile, disinterested; remember, you're half dead from the last time._

Bennie produced the key to the cuffs, and unlocked her ankles. "Bed or floor?"

"Floor; we'll need the room, if we gotta hold her down." Ace grinned down at her as he took hold of her ankles. "How bout it, chatterbox? Ready for the bonus round?"

The urge to end all this, just kill them and run home, rose up like a tidal wave. _Do it, then run home and pack. Quickly, because you'll never know how close behind you the real adversaries are. Live in shabby rented houses like this one, keep the blinds drawn, and don't even think about sending the kids to school, because you'll never stay in one place long enough. For that matter, you'd never be able to let them out of the house without wondering if you'll ever see them again. Maybe they'll become diarists, like Anne Frank._

_God, please, help me; there's got to be a way out of this._

And then, as if in answer, came a small, insistent voice. _They're about to unlock your wrists. Struggle; make it good. Let them overcome you, but make them work_ _for their fun. _She'd first heard that voice urging her to ignore a young man's misery, in a bathroom at Westminster Mall. It was her own, or the echo of her other self that was attached to the Alpha file: Two, the assassin and expert torturer.

During the six seconds Bennie spent unlocking the cuffs on her wrists, she weighed her options. She had begun to lose hope of ever coaxing the information she wanted out of Ace; she didn't understand him well enough to play him, and all she seemed to be doing was escalating the level of violence. She didn't understand the advice the Alpha file offered, but something in it held the key to these men's twisted psyches. She decided to gamble.

The instant the second wrist fetter was unlocked, she jerked an ankle out of Ace's grip. "Hey!" He made a grab for her pumping leg, and lost his grip on the other as she twisted and pulled.

Now her only restraint was a surprised Bennie's grip on the wrist he'd just freed; she reached up with her other hand and raked her fingernails down his forearm to the back of his hand. _Careful. Your claws are more dangerous than a lion's. Just draw a little blood, that's all you want to do. _"Jesus!" He let go, and she was free for the first time since they'd brought her here.

She sprang off the bed and got a single step towards the bedroom door before Bennie wrapped his arms around her from behind, lifting her off the floor with a grunt. She let out a yowl of rage and frustration, squirming in his shaky grip. Ace was reaching for her scissoring legs; she kicked out and caught him in the stomach, and he folded. She thrashed like a rattlesnake, and her skull connected with Bennie's face; he dropped her to the floor, and she scuttled towards the door on all fours.

Someone landed on her back; she let her limbs go out from under her and splay on the carpet. It was Chucky. His knee drove her into the floor with enough force to pin any hundred-pound girl, and she flattened, exhaling with a loud "Huuh!" With his lips inches from her ear, he said softly, "What the _fuck _did you think you were doing?" His voice held no anger. He grabbed one scrabbling arm, then the other, clamping them in one huge hand behind her back; the other hand pressed her face sideways into the floor. "Settle down. It's over. You ain't goin nowhere." His voice was almost gentle.

Ace bent over her, still catching his breath; despite his darkened face, he was grinning. "Well, wasn't _that _an unexpected treat." He huffed. "Guess that last session made an impression after all. That right, pixie stick? Reality sinkin in? Waitin for darling Jack to get around to comin for you, maybe that doesn't seem like such a good plan anymore?"

She gathered an ounce of water and glycerin in her mouth and spat at him. It didn't go far, not with the side of her face pressed into the carpet, but her message was clear.

"Get her legs," he said to Bennie, whose nose was trickling blood. "Fuck, look at you. Gonna have a shiner, too. And your arm looks like raw meat. Better tell everybody you got your ass kicked in a bar, bro."

Bennie grinned back. She noted that they both were in sudden high spirits, despite their injuries. _This is how you do it. They like a challenge – but only after they've won._

She felt Ace grip her leg with both hands as Bennie secured the back of her ankle to the end of the broom handle with several windings of duct tape. When he laid hands on the other ankle, she kicked at him. "Jesus, Chucky, can't you hold her still?" Adrenaline joined the mix in the air.

Chuck's reply was fast and harsh. "Wasn't for me, she'd be out the door now, runnin down the street stark naked and screamin her lungs out, with us stuck three thousand miles from home and everybody thinkin we're in the cabin in the Poconos. ' I got dogs weigh more than this.' Shit, she almost got away from _both_ of you." Chucky twisted her arms up her back in a manner guaranteed to immobilize a bio. "How about it, Bennie? When they book ya for kidnapping and rape, ya gonna use your phone call to explain it to Billy? Bet you got your pictures and panties in your luggage somewhere, too." Now he _did_ sound angry. "Cuz of you, I'm gonna die in prison, on death row or shivved in the shower. Only way out is if I put a bullet in each of you, before you get any stupider."

"_Easy_, man, don't get your shorts in a bunch." Ace's voice was almost sunny. "It's all good. Just hold her still, is all."

Using their hands and knees, Ace and Bennie pinned her legs and secured the other ankle to the opposite end of the handle with more tape; her feet were immobilized almost a meter apart, in an especially painful manner, simply by stepping on the wooden rod. Chucky eased up on her wrists somewhat and said, "Well, now what?"

"You call it, Bennie." Ace stared straight into her eyes as he spoke. "Back to bed? Or leave her on the floor and chain her wrists to the footboard, maybe? Give her a chance to squirm a little."

"Uh-uh." She heard a tearing sound as Bennie pulled another long strip of tape from the roll. "I think she's gonna be fine right here. Gimme her wrist."

III

Bennie shoved a slice of cold pizza into his mouth, tired but happy. He looked at his brother, seated across the table, and pulled it back out without taking a bite, dropping it on the paper plate. "What the fuck is wrong _now_?"

Ace sat scowling, a beer bottle gripped in his hand. He'd been drinking more than usual on this trip, and _way_ more than Bennie would have expected. Ace only drank when he was upset; as far as Bennie could see, his brother ought to be on top of the world right now. "I just don't feel right. We're missin somethin."

"Like what? The little bitch made plenty of noise for you _this_ time, didn't she? And not one smartass remark." _And all that sobbing at the end almost made me blow another load. _"You did it right, skippin all the foreplay. Hit that armor hard and crack it, she's soft and pink inside." He grinned. "She's on her _way_. She'll be a believer by the time buddy Jack shows up with his million dollars."

His brother refused to be cheered up. "Yeah, all of a sudden everythin's goin our way. So why do I feel like the ground's slidin out from under me?"

"Fuck, cuz you're in _California_." Suddenly he felt too tired to eat. Once you started a bitch on the Path to Belief, it was important to keep the pressure up and the hurt going, and not to let her rest or think about anything but what was going to happen to her next. Not that he wasn't enjoying the work, but they'd hit the ground running on this one, and he wasn't twenty anymore. "If you want her to still have all her marbles when he gets here, we might even need back off, just before. Back's killin me. Spare a couple aspirin, willya?" He stretched and arched his back. "Maybe you just wanted this so bad for so long. Havin it done and over with is bound to leave an empty spot."

His brother passed the aspirin bottle. "This is still a long way from over. It's more like, no matter how good it turns out, it won't be good enough."

Bennie shook his head as he unscrewed the top and dumped a couple of pills into his hand. He examined the bottle: generic crap. Being a wiseguy didn't pay so good these days, not at their level, anyway. There'd been a time when they'd been on their way to the big leagues. But that run-in with Lynch had totally blown their reps, and the big opportunities never seemed to come their way again. In his opinion, a million split three ways would only begin to make restitution. "Hey. Since ol' Jack can't make it back until Monday anyhow, how bout we shake him down for a million each? I'll bet he's got it."

His brother's lips thinned. "And if he needs more time to put it together?" He tilted a head towards the bedroom door. "Sure we can keep her from spoilin till he gets here?"

He shrugged. "What the hell. We're talkin about a _million dollars_. _Each._ If she's in no shape for a floor show, isn't it worth it? We'll still have _him._ And the kid. And our tool kits."

"No." Ace gripped the bottle so hard his knuckles whitened. "The bastard owes me more than money. So does the little cunt in the next room."

He dry-swallowed the pills. "She kinda reminds me of somebody else. Whaddaya think?"

His brother glared at him. "Fuckin amateur psychologist. Every pussy older than _eight_ reminds me of her."

"Not Luisa. I was thinkin about the little Chink, actually. The hitchhiker." He glanced towards the couch, and was startled to see Chucky staring at them over his paper with a sniper's eyes; he was glad the spooky fucker had a newspaper in his hands instead of a gun. "How bout it, Chucky? Remember that little wildcat?"

"Yeah." Big brother's face disappeared behind his paper again.

"You only tapped _that_ one once too, as I recall. We could really use some more help with this one, brother. Now that it's started, we gotta keep the pressure up. All hands on deck, you know?"

"You know you only call me 'brother' when you want something outta me? Get the kid to do it." Chucky's face was still behind the sports section. "I ain't goin back in there until she's ready for a bullet."

"Where's all the attitude comin from? What'd she say to _you_?"

"She didn't say shit. She just creeps me out. You know that."

_You want to do her, both ways. So bad you can taste it, I bet. _"Looked like you were tryin to kill her with your bare _dick_ earlier."

"I was a little horny, what can I say? Give it a rest, Bennie. Have your fun. Call me when it's time to clean up." He got up and went outside, reaching for his smokes.

III

At the bottom of the steps, Chuck hot boxed three Luckys in a row. "She said, 'Thank you,' asshole. Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ."

He heard footsteps pounding down the sidewalk, and saw Luis turn into the driveway with a cardboard box bouncing in his hands. The kid stopped when he saw his uncle standing at the end of the drive.

"No point bein careful now, kid. Probably nothin in that box but mush." The boy was breathing heavily and sweating like a pig. "You run the whole way?"

"Mostly," the kid huffed.

He flipped his cigarette to the concrete. "Wouldja believe, I used to run three miles a day before breakfast? And five on weekends. I dunno if I could _walk_ that far now."

"Why did you quit?"

"I guess what I was runnin from caught me anyway."

When Luis approached the steps, Chuck stuck his hand out and planted it on the kid's chest, stopping him. He stared hard into the boy's widening eyes. "Be smart. Whatever you decide to do, be smart about it."

III

Luis entered the house feeling preternaturally alert, a soldier behind enemy lines. After so much time in the sun, the inside of the house seemed as dim as a cave. From the living room, he could see his other two uncles at the kitchen table, playing cards among the debris of several meals. Rather, they were _holding _cards. As he set the box and change on the counter, he stole a look at Bennie's hand; the cards were the same ones he'd been holding when Luis had left. The hairs on the back of his arms rose, and he flicked an involuntary glance towards the bedroom door. "It's right here when you want it." He stepped towards the door.

"Hold it." Ace threw his cards on the table. "Fuck this. He knows we ain't been playin _cards_ while he was gone." He stood and stepped between Luis and the door. "Tell me what's on the other side of this door."

"A contract killer." _I haven't heard a sound from the other side of that door since I first left._

"And?"

"A scheming little bitch."

"And?"

"Collateral on a debt."

"What else?"

_What do you want me to say?_ He swallowed. "I don't know. What?"

"A work in progress. You remember what I said about goin through this door?"

He concentrated on his breathing. He told himself the shortness of breath was just from the run, not his growing unease over what he might find beyond the door. "Yes."

"So, are you goin in there to talk to her?"

"No."

"Check to see if she's all right?"

"No."

"Good, because she's _not_, and I don't think she's in a mood to talk. When her husband gets here, we don't want any quibblin over price, or threats of payback, or any of that shit. He needs to take one look at her and just be glad to take her and go. Understand?"

"Sure, Uncle. I've got it. No mercy. Put it to her. It's nothing compared to what she'd do to us if she got the chance."

The monster in human form looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "Good answer. So, why _are_ you goin in there?"

He looked at the bedroom door, hoping his uncle would think the look on his face was directed at _her_. "To get some of that tight little ass."

"There's hope for ya yet." Ace stepped aside. Luis went in and closed the door behind him.

The light in the bedroom was even dimmer; the overhead light was out, and so was the floor lamp he'd unplugged earlier. The last dusty floor fixture gave out next to nothing. At first, all he could make out was the gleam of brass from the bed. But he thought he heard something: a faint clinking noise, a soft rustle. "Anne?"

No answer, but he was certain she was on the bed and moving. He picked up the floor lamp and moved it as close as the cord would allow, maybe five feet from the bed.

She was trembling violently, shaking as if she were freezing to death or having a seizure. "Anne!"

"Wait. Wait. D-d-don't come near."

"What is it? What's wrong?" He moved towards her.

She stilled suddenly, and his heart leaped into his throat until he heard her whisper, "Okay. It's okay now." She gave him a tired smile. "Hi."

She was naked. He'd expected that; the sight made him feel only a sort of sick horror. The next thing he noticed was the new bonds. Her wrists were secured with a single pair of cuffs, so she could bring her hands together; the second pair connected the chain between her wrists to the center of the headboard. Her ankles had been duct taped to the ends of a wooden rod about three feet wide, and the rod tethered to the footboard with the other two sets of cuffs, daisy chained to double the length. The new arrangement gave her enough slack to lift her legs without letting her bring her knees together. _More natural positioning; easy access. She's nothing but a toy to them, one they don't really care about breaking._

"Don't look at me like that, it's not so bad as it looks. Really, it's more comfortable." She spread her wrists and brought them together, then raised and lowered her knees. Her motions seemed lethargic, as if she were exhausted.

Then he noticed the dark smudges on her chest and collarbones and face, which was streaked with tear marks. "What…"

"They had me off the bed for a while," she said in a distant voice. "The carpet really needs a good cleaning."

Her belly and abdomen were slimed with a clear thick substance. She followed his gaze. "Spit. Bennie drools a little, just before. Had some on my back too, but it's on the mattress now."

"Jesus." It was the first time in his life he'd taken the Savior's name in vain; perhaps it was really a prayer. He snatched the sheet off the floor and started to wipe her down; she lay quiet under his touch without response or a word of comment.

He heard the door open. He turned, feeling violent. It was Bennie. "What ya _doin_ in here?"

He bared his teeth. "She's _filthy_. Ever heard of cleaning _up_ after yourself?"

His uncle chuckled. "How ya gonna clean her up on the _inside_? She must have jizz comin out her _ears_." He closed the door.

"He's just yanking your chain," she said. The weariness in her voice was terrifying. "They used condoms. Except Chuck, once." He finished, and started to cover her. "No. Please, I don't want it. I'm not cold, I don't care about modesty, and I don't want the filthy thing on my skin."

He touched her cheek, about to apologize for… something, everything. Before he could bring himself to speak, she said, "I'm so sorry, Luis. I never guessed. A boy as beautiful as you, I just assumed your first time was way behind you. I had no idea what I was asking of you. If I had, I wouldn't have pushed you into it; I'd have found some other way." Her eyes filled with tears. "My first time changed my life, you know? I know it's not that way for everyone, but… it should at least be something you can remember with some warmth. Not shame and… revulsion."

It was his turn to tremble. He felt a tide of loathing rising up in him: for the monsters outside the door, and for himself and his cowardice. He turned slowly towards the doorway. _I should have died before I let them do this to her._

"I couldn't get through this without you, Luis." She seemed to be reading his thoughts. "I don't know how much longer I can hold out as it is. You're my light in the darkness. If you let them kill you… I'll lose myself, I know it. I don't know what will happen to me, what I'll become. Hold me? Just for a little."

The trembling reached his voice. "How can you stand the touch of a man, after this?"

"Oh, baby, I've never needed the touch of a _man_ more in my life."

III

Ace finished his second beer, feeling _very_ uneasy. Something just didn't feel right. Events had taken one weird turn after another since he'd found out where Lynch was living, and every time things started going according to plan, something would come at them out of left field and leave them wondering what the hell was going on.

Twelve hours ago, Lynch's little bitch had looked like she'd be impossible to crack in time; now, it looked like they were going to be turning her into a believer ahead of schedule, and they might have to handle her carefully to keep her from going zombie on them. Everything was going their way again. It was time for the next unpleasant surprise.

He said to Bennie, "Haven't heard a peep. You?" He sure wasn't forcing the breath out of her like the first time.

His brother's fleshy lips parted in a grin. "He was drivin nails into her for half the morning. Then you sent him on a twelve mile run. Maybe he's _sleepin."_

He felt himself smile. "At the Y?" He got up and pressed an ear to the door: nothing. It didn't really matter how he was doing her, as long as he was keeping her awake and in play and not showing her a scrap of sympathy. He cracked the door, noted that the kid had his clothes off this time and was making use of her, and had almost closed the door again when what he'd seen registered. Then the door seemed to come about a third of the way open all by itself under his hand, and he couldn't take his eyes off what he was seeing.

The use he was getting out of her was _way_ too good.

He'd untied her ankles and scooted her up to the head of the bed, giving her enough slack to lay hands on him. She was wrapped around him as they moved together.

Anger and amazement fought inside him. After what they'd done to the little bitch, she shouldn't be _capable_ of what she was doing. By now, she shouldn't be anything more than a shivering cock socket, waiting for the next ordeal. Instead, she was fucking … no, damn it, making _love_ … to _him_. Ace's vision narrowed to a tunnel, focused on the bodies on the bed.

The boy picked up the tempo, and she gasped as he started putting it to her. She crossed her wrists behind his neck, with the chain dangling in front of him like a necklace; Ace wondered idly if her nails were removing any of the kid's skin. Her back arched, _rippling_ like a belly dancer's, lifting them both off the bed, and he gasped as he came. Her head darted up to kiss him as they both shuddered with it. To Ace, it looked like better sex than he'd ever had in his life.

_I would bet anything I've ever owned that you're utterly worthless in bed._

He reached behind him, to the gun tucked into his pants at the small of his back. Lynch was going to miss his little floor show, Ace decided, because these two weren't going to live another minute.

A flash lit up the bedroom – photo, not gunfire. The startled lovers turned their heads toward the door just in time for Bennie to snap their picture a second time. "Isn't this _sweet_," his brother said. "You can almost hear the _music_ playin, cantcha?" He felt Bennie take hold of the hand he had on the gun behind his back, and gently pull him from the room. "Let's give the little lovebirds some privacy for a minute." As soon as the door was shut, his brother turned to him with the sort of grin he used to flash when they were kids and caught one of the neighbors' cats. "Fucks like a mink. Didn't I say it? Is this the frosting on the cake, or what? Chucky was right. We _own_ the little bitch now."

Ace took a deep, easy breath. He felt like laughing. "Yeah. Let's go get Chucky. I think it's time to give her the news." The murderous rage was gone, vanished the instant she'd turned her head toward him and he'd gotten a look at her face. He'd never actually caught that look on _her _face, but he'd imagined it a thousand times as he'd fantasized about surprising the two of them, gun in hand: the what-have-I-done look of a woman who's just been caught cold, cheating on her husband.

III

After the door closed, Anna remained motionless for several seconds, still feeling shocked and a little confused. _How long have they been there, and why didn't I notice?_ She ran a quick sensor check. Luis's shallow breathing was a surf-sound in her ears; Chucky coughed from the driveway outside. _Something odd there._ It had taken an unusual effort to cast any part of her attention outside the bedroom. Ace and Bennie were talking in the kitchen, but she couldn't focus on them.

Luis took a normal breath and let it out. The small movement instantly jerked her full attention back to him. She felt his hands and each of his fingers where they touched her shoulders. She felt his skin every place they touched: chest, abdomen, thighs. She felt his buttocks twitch under her heels, his neck under her fingers, and his manhood as it slowly shrank inside her. And she felt his heart beating against her chest… perfectly matched to her pulse.

The discovery rocked her. She cast her mind back, searching. From the moment Luis had taken her in his arms, the focus of her awareness had tightened until her personal universe consisted of this bed and the man who shared it with her. She studied his face. _How could I have missed it? I kept telling myself he looked just like Bobby, but that's not who he really_ _resembled._ She stared up into his eyes: warm reddish brown, deep and inviting. _So that's what he looked like at eighteen. Dreamy._

In a stricken voice, he said, "What have I done?"

_Oh, no, you don't. You're not going to feel shame when you remember this. _"Something wonderful." She pulled his face down and kissed him. He started to pull away; she dug in her heels and stopped him. "No. I'll lose you soon enough. Don't leave me." She saw him glance at the chain connecting her wrists. "These are nothing. They're like that broom handle. For _them_, it was something they needed to take what they wanted from me; for us, it was just in the way." She held his head a short distance away and looked again into his eyes. "I love you. I don't have Stockholm Syndrome, and I'm not saying it to make you feel good. I'm telling you because it's true, and I have to." She felt him slip out, finally, and gave his rear end a squeeze with her heels; then she stroked the backs of his legs with them as she talked. "It's a good sign, that they gave us this time alone, don't you think?" _Actually, I think it's a very bad sign, but we'll see._

"Anne. I, uh, I…"

She put a finger to his lips. "Don't say it. Not unless you're sure. I don't mind. I'm not looking for anything from you. No, that's not true. Luis… will you promise to do something for me?"

He almost said _anything_, she could tell; but he caught himself. "Tell me what it is first."

She smiled. "Fine then, don't promise. But think about it." She changed her tone, making it the most earnest entreaty she could. "I think something may happen soon, something big."

"What?"

"I can't say. You'll know it when it happens. When it does, remember what I'm saying. You need to get away to some quiet place, a closet or a bathroom maybe, as far away as you can get and still be in the house."

"Without you? No."

She shook her head. "If it happens, you won't have any fears for my safety."

"Anne, what are you talking about?"

"Just remember, baby. Everything will be fine. Promise." She glanced towards the door. "I can't think of anything I want you to do less right now, but I think you'd better get dressed before they come back. You don't want to face them naked."

III

When Benny and Chucky came out with the kid, Ace looked him over and hated him all over again. It took everything he had to stretch his face in a smile. From the look on the kid's face, he wasn't being very convincing. "Got her broke to the saddle pretty good. You s'pose she'll do that for the rest of us now?" Looking for trouble, Ace watched the little punk tense up; Bennie and Chucky flanked him, ready to grab him if he did something stupid. "Otherwise, I'm gonna have to go in there and fix what you did. And, frankly, I'm tired. The little bitch damn near wore me out while you were gone."

The kid's lunge was checked almost before it started; he didn't get two inches before Ace's brothers had him tight by the arms. Ace's smile was genuine now, but it didn't make the kid any happier. "Keep him quiet while I go have a talk with his little girlfriend." He stepped towards the door.

"Ace. Be careful what you do." The kid's voice.

He turned, ready to laugh at the little choirboy. "Are you, honest to God, _threatenin _me?"

"I know you're not scared of me. Why should you be? But I don't think you've got a good take on her husband, Ace. She's got no reason to care about what happens to you, but she's _seriously _afraid of what he's going to do when he gets here."

He leaned toward the kid. "That so? Afraid?" His voice was soft and amused. "When did she tell ya that?"

You could tell the punk wished he hadn't said anything, but the cat was out of the bag. "Just before they came for me."

He nodded. "Well," he said slowly, "she probly never had a better reason than she does right now. Dontcha think?" He turned, smiling, and entered the bedroom.

She was staring towards the door with the same shocky expression Bennie'd caught on her face with his second shot. _Oh, yeah, she's scared all right. Chucky was right about her, one hundred percent._

"He's Jack's, isn't he? His and your wife's."

Instead of answering, he stepped to the bed and leaned over her. She didn't flinch away, even though she had plenty of slack for it; not even when he cupped her crotch in his hand, sampling the heat and moisture.

"I guess this is the smartest part of you. It recognized him before you did." He wiped his palm on her belly; she didn't even twitch.

"What did you do with his mother?"

He took a seat in the chair next to the bed. "Not a fuckin thing. The guy used to run things, Old Bill, he was a hardnosed Catholic. He'd strangle you with a shoelace if you crossed him, but women were off limits, so long as they didn't cross the Family. And a pregnant one… even one with a bastard in her belly… well, he let me know I'd be an outlaw if she came to harm or lost the baby. She disappeared from the hospital the day after she dropped; smartest thing she ever did. Bill expected me to take care of my wife's kid regardless, but even _he _didn't insist I raise him. I let her brother have her bastard. Even sent money sometimes. Fuck, just to make Old Bill happy, I even went to the brat's birthday parties at first. Until he got older, and started lookin like _him_. After that, I saved his life once a year by stayin away."

"Then why bring him _here_?"

Instead of answering, he said, "Bennie's quite the amateur photographer. Those two pictures he took are _hot_. Got you with your legs around the kid's ass like a porn queen, and both your faces. The first shot, he got you kissin him. And you know, I don't know how he did it, but I can't see your bracelets, and I _know_ they're there." Her eyes looked big and round as moons. He gave in to a little smile. "What do you spose'll happen when I introduce him, and then show him how you welcomed his boy into the family? I don't imagine he'll ever look at Bobber the same way, huh?" He heard her breath quicken, watched her tremble. "Don't suppose he'll look at _you _the same way, either."

Suddenly she started shivering so hard, he thought she was having a seizure. He turned and was about to call for Bennie, when it stopped, just like that. "What the hell? Say somethin."

"What do you want me to say?" Her head was turned away. Her voice raised the hairs on his arms: it was flat, distant, a robot's voice.

"What just happened?"

"I lost the fight. I just got too tired. Too many hits." She took a deep breath and let it out; it didn't seem like a sigh, more like she was gathering the strength to speak. "You're right. It'll be over between us. He'll ransom me, but he'll never touch me again. He'll take the kids and leave me."

He hooked her chin with a finger and turned it to face him. He'd expected to see her crying her eyes out, but she hadn't shed a tear. Her eyes were dry, half-closed, vacant. She didn't look at him, just stared blankly at the ceiling. "What, no water works?"

"I'm done with tears. I don't have any left." She turned her head away. "You're going to kill us. All of us. That's why you brought him here." She might have been talking about the weather.

"It doesn't have to be hard," he said, feeling almost gentle now that everything was going his way. "I could give you the rag till you stop breathin. It'll be just like goin to sleep."

She didn't turn her head. "Why would you do that?"

He traced her ear with his fingertips. "To get what I want, why else?" No reaction. "I've been thinkin about what I'm gonna do to him. Been plannin it for years. The boy too. It's messy, and it'd last a long time. But I'd throw those plans out the window and do them both quick… if I had a way to hurt him bad without cuttin him or burnin him. Break him down fast, make him wish to God he'd never met me or her or done what he did, and tell me so. And have done with it."

"How?"

His fingertips moved lightly down the side of her neck. "Just for starters, I need another performance from you. Just like the one a few minutes ago, only with me instead of him. Now. Will you do that?"

"Yes." Her voice was small and faint.

"Without chains."

"Yes."

"And again, later. While Jack watches."

Silence.

His heart sped up, not from anger, but from excitement, the kind you get when you've got the fish in the net, and it starts flopping around enough to remind you it's not dead yet. "I can make each of you last for days. And he'll die thinkin you been doin Bobber behind his back."

The silence stretched. Finally, in that distant, lifeless voice, she said, "What do you want him to think?"

_Triumph._ She was there. None of that bullshit about being free in her own mind; all the choices were his, or ones he let her have. And even though her choices were all shit, she was going to have to take her pick, like choosing to be burned or drowned. Better still, all the choices she had to pick from left her hating herself; she would've picked death if he'd offered her the option. He had absolute power over her, body and soul, and she was ready to acknowledge it. She was a Believer. "I want him to think you're leavin with me. That you helped me set him up to get him out of the way. You do what I think it takes to convince him, and I'll do you first, quiet and out of his sight. Then I'll do him quick; the kid too."

"I don't believe you." Still that dead monotone. "But it doesn't matter. I have to do it anyway. You know it."

His pulse sped up. "So what will you do, for a chance to make it quick for him?"

"Anything you want."

He grinned. "Take it in the ass, and suck my dick afterwards?"

"It doesn't matter. Yes."

His chest tightened. In a low voice he said, "Fuck me in front of him, so close you can hear him breathing. Afterwards, tell me it was the best you ever had. In front of him."

"I don't know… if I can convince him."

"If you don't, he'll spend three days tied in a chair while I take twenty years' interest out of him. Be convincing."

"Yes. I will. I'll do it."

He imagined Lynch, taped into a chair, straining without effect, while his wife perched naked in his lap, using him for sex furniture as Ace took her. His dick stiffened as he thought of her ass flexing against Lynch's thighs while Ace stroked her, and being able to smile into the bastard's eyes the whole time. Afterwards, he might actually send her into the next room with Bennie for her payoff; it would depend on Lynch. If the asshole fell for it and acted like he wished he could kill her, he was going to die thinking she liked Ace's cock better; but if the fucker showed an atom of concern for her, he and Benny would bring out the toolboxes and let Lynch watch them go to work on her.

The swelling in his pants grew even worse as a new thought came to him. She might need some practice before Lynch got here, to get it just right. They could use the kid for Lynch's stand-in, while he and Bennie took turns.

"How could this happen?" Her voice sounded weary beyond words. "Yesterday I was happy. I had everything I ever wanted. Now I've got nothing. You took it all." Just listening to her brought him close to coming. "After all this time, how did you find us? Just tell me that, Ace. Tell me, and I'll do anything you want."

He thought about it. _Why not? Add insult to injury._ He cupped one little-girl breast in his hand, stroking the nipple with a thumb. "You meet the damnedest people at weddings."

She lay totally passive, but he was sure she was listening. He went on. "Two weeks ago, I'm at a reception. Some cousin; haven't seen him in years, but I get an invite for some reason, and it's a free meal.

"The place is packed full of relatives I barely remember. One of em is this little greaser, maybe twenty-five, flew in from the West Coast. He talks a lot of shit, and he's got a few guys listenin to his stories.

"I cock an ear, cuz sometimes it's fun listenin to losers like that and trying to figure just how much bullshit they're shovelin. Says he owns a restaurant in Escondido; I figure he probably delivers pizza. He talks about all the money he's makin, but his clothes are brand new, still got store creases in em like he bought em for the wedding, and not all that good; his Rolex is a knock-off. But then he starts talkin about the pussy in California, how hot they are, and how easy, and even his new buddies are lookin at each other with their eyebrows up, cuz this guy doesn't look like he's had any date but his right hand in years.

"Then he pulls out his phone. It's got a camera, and he sets up a little slide show and passes it around. And damned if he hasn't got some pics of some _fine_ pussy, three foxes wearin next to nothin sunnin themselves in lounge chairs. He's goin on about how well he knows em, the little perv, but anybody with eyes can see the top of a fence along the bottom of one of the pictures. The pictures are in sequence, and in the third one another little gash comes out the door with a tray of drinks." He could just reach her thigh from his chair; he laid his hand on it. "Gotta say, you looked cute in that little white bikini. Slide over here, so I can reach you better." A little test.

She moved to the edge of the bed, stretching the wrist chains out again. No question or hesitation. He got a hand under her knee and tugged gently. She lifted it, and he stroked the back of her thigh down to her ass before pushing her leg down again. "But in the last two pictures, there was a guy in the doorway. You only saw him from the right side, and nobody else who saw those pics noticed him, they were droolin over the women so much. But even after twenty years, I recognized the asshole who put a bastard into my wife.

"So I get this loser alone and drop a few questions. We didn't even get each other's names, but I got the address of my old buddy, the one with his pick of blonde, brunette, or redhead. Old Bill is long gone, and his son Billy runs things a little different. I ask for some time off, and like that, the three of us have a week away, and someone to mind our stores. Frankly, he wouldn't mind if we never came back; the Family doesn't have much use for three old knuckle-splitters like us, and he thinks we're an embarrassment. That was three days ago. Four, now."

He sat stroking her thighs and belly, waiting. She lay silent for so long, he started to wonder if she'd really been paying attention, or if she'd slipped away, like some of them did when they broke: following orders like a zombie, but with the rest of their minds gone. "It was an accident, just a stupid coincidence. I found Luisa years ago, hidin out in Florida. I left her alone, let her think she got away safe. I break Lynch quick, I got just enough time to pay her a visit before I go home, and the books are finally closed."

"Incredible." Her voice raised the hairs on his forearms again, and on the back of his neck too; it was still flat and emotionless, but suddenly she was all there. "I put up with all this nonsense because of a horny delivery boy with a big mouth. You know, I think I'm going to order a pizza when I get home." She turned her eyes to him at last; they were cool, aware, amused.

A sheet of red slid down over his eyes. _Played me._ "You fuckin little bitch." He reached for his knife.

"What can you expect? I'm just a lying cunt." She spread her hands, smiling, and the chain between her wrists parted like thread as she reached for him.

33


	4. Taking Care of Business

Shortly after Ace disappeared behind the bedroom door, Luis jerked suddenly in his uncles' arms. Bennie's grip on him flexed but held; Chuck's was a steel clamp. He wasn't going to get away from them. "What's he going to do?"

"Anything he wants," Bennie answered. "But I'm pretty sure all he's doin is talkin to her right now. They got a lot to talk about." He hooded his eyes, "So, was it as good as it looked?"

He stared at the older man. "You're contemptible."

"I think I'm gonna find out. Now you broke her in, it should be easy."

He gathered saliva in his mouth. But before he could spit, he felt Chuck grasp the back of his neck. His head was turned to the angry face of older man. "What the _fuck _did you think you were doing?" He let go of Luis's head, but they continued to lock eyes. "She was _this _close to letting go. You should have just let her slip away, let her give up and get past it. Everything afterwards wouldn't have touched her, not really."

Bennie's grip tightened on his arm. "Chucky, what-"

"The pain would still make her scream, but that's just reflex. She wouldn't have been there to feel it. And the things they'll make her do would have seemed like they were happening to someone else. All you had to do was poke her another time or two, show her she had no one to turn to, and she'd have gone to her hiding place while these assholes had their fun." Chuck shoved him by the arm so hard Bennie stumbled. "Instead, you give her an anchor that holds her in this world of shit, and give them a new way to hurt her. Would have been lots kinder to choke her to death."

"Chucky." Bennie sounded flustered and off-balance. "What the _fuck _are you talkin about?"

A high, breathy scream came from the other side of the door; all three of them jerked. The sound wasn't like anything he'd heard from her before. He pulled against their double grip. "You son of a bitch! Leave her alone!"

What happened next seemed to be recorded in his memory in slow motion. The bedroom door opened suddenly – outward, the wrong way. Wood crunched as the hinges tore loose and the door sagged crookedly. Anne stepped into the room, still naked, dragging Ace by his ponytail. The man was clutching his crotch with both hands and gagging.

Bennie and Chuck released him and moved. Bennie tugged at the gun in his waistband, trying to clear it; but Chuck gave Luis a one handed shove that sent him to his knees and upended the kitchen table with the other, sending broken glass and other debris across the floor, and ran for the door, pulling out his gun on the way.

Anne was faster. She dropped Ace and launched herself at the two men. She didn't look like a naked girl, or a helpless child; she hardly looked human at all, more like some creature from another planet with lots of predators in its food chain. She smacked Benny in the forehead with the heel of her hand as she ran past, hammering his head back and sending him sprawling backwards, the gun flying away. Before he hit the floor, she'd hurdled the table and was between Chuck and the door, fist cocked; he barely had time to see her standing in front of him before she struck. She hit him low in the abdomen, her fist a blur. Luis stared, horrified, at the brief sight of the man's vertebrae clearly outlined against his shirt fabric, pressed out through his back by the force of the blow. Chuck jackknifed and tumbled to the ground like an armload of firewood, but she was already moving again, retracing her path.

Bennie was crawling like a drunk towards his gun. She gave him a kick in the side that sent him sprawling, again with hardly a pause, and swept back to the bedroom door, where Ace, sitting on the floor, had managed to reach behind him for his pistol. As he brought it up, she slapped it out of his grip; it landed almost at Luis's feet. On impulse, he picked it up, holding it loosely in his hand.

Anne dragged Ace by his ponytail through the wreckage of the kitchen. His fists beat futilely at her as she set a chair against the wall, grabbed the roll of duct tape off the counter, hoisted him into the chair, and started binding his wrists to its arms. "_Shoot her!_" Ace was screaming. "She'll kill us all!"

_It was all true, the whole story, _he thought._ I freed her legs, and somehow she got out of the cuffs, and now she's loose among us like a shark in an aquarium._

Her back was turned to the rest of the room as she worked. "_Ben_-nie," she said in that singsong voice mothers use on a child in serious trouble, "what are you doing?"

Bennie stopped. He'd been crawling again, trying to reach his gun; he was going slower now, because he was doing it with one hand pressed tight to his side, his breathing labored and painful-sounding. The weapon was still a foot from his fingers. And she hadn't even looked his way.

Continuing in her aggrieved-mom tone, she said, "If you pick up that gun, you might as well stick it in your _mouth_, because I am _not_ taking it away from you again." She sidestepped to the counter, snatched up the car keys, and flipped them over her shoulder without looking as she returned to the chair where Ace was throwing himself around. The keys landed on the floor between Bennie's fingers and the gun. "Decision time. Grab the gun, and see if you can get a shot off before I reach you. Or take the keys and make a run for it; I'll let you get as far as the door before I start, just to be sporting." She pointed at another kitchen chair near Ace's. "Or else I expect you to get in that chair and wait for me. By the time I count to five, or I'll come after you, and you'll be sorry. One."

Bennie sobbed, stumbled to his feet, left the keys and gun, and shuffled towards the chair.

"What the fuck's _wrong _with you? Somebody _shoot_ this bitch!"

"Two. Ace, I've listened to your potty mouth all I care to. Clean it up. Three."

Ace glared at her. "Fuck you. You're just – agggh!" Her hand withdrew from his mouth, a bloody bicuspid between her thumb and forefinger. As he spit blood, she said, "Only warning, Ace. If I do this again, I won't stop at one. Four, Bennie."

Bennie dropped heavily into the chair, moaning.

Anne finished wrapping Ace's wrists and ankles, and began taping down his elbows. "Oh, Bennie, stop being such a crybaby. You've got a black eye, some missing skin off your forearm, two cracked ribs, a hematoma at the base of your right thumb, and a case of whiplash you're hardly feeling yet. You'd think you never had a moment's pain in your life till now." She started taping Ace's thighs to the seat. "Bet _you_ never got dropped into tubs of ice water when you were a kid, just to see how long you could take it. Or spent every night of your childhood in a steel box too small to lie down in." She looked at the empty tape roll. "Guess this'll do. Don't go anywhere, Ace." She turned, looking at Bennie for the first time. "I'll be back. You wait right there for me."

She glided back towards Chuck in that eerily smooth and silent gait that made Luis think of a cruising shark, until he heard crunching sounds. She was walking over broken glass. Even if she could ignore the injury, she should be leaving bloody tracks on the carpet, but she wasn't. The sight gave him another reason to be afraid.

Somehow during the melee, he'd ended up near the wall between kitchen and living room. She glided by him. She hadn't glanced at him since she'd emerged from the bedroom; now, as she came to the point of closest approach, she turned her head away from him as she walked by. _She got what she wanted. I'm nothing to her now._

She approached Chuck, still lying silent on the floor, until she was standing over him. From this position, as when she was binding Ace, Luis could only see her backside; her face was hidden from him. Chuck lay half on his side with one leg bent under him. One outstretched hand rested inches from his gun. She inclined her head towards the weapon. "Are you wanting that?"

He looked up at her, the first time Luis had seen him look her in the eye. "Would it do me some good?"

"If you use it on yourself, maybe." She nudged it towards him with a bare toe, a clear offer.

He coughed twice. "Pass. You've earned your fun."

She glanced at Chuck's cigarettes on the floor where they'd fallen out of his pocket. "Smoke?"

"No, thanks. I'm trying to quit."

She squatted on the balls of her feet, two feet from his face. Incongruously, it occurred to Luis that she was giving Chuck an eyeful, if he cared to look. But all his attention was riveted on her face as she looked down at him. "Odd. You raped me. You beat me, savagely. And when playtime was over, I'm sure you were meant to be the one who put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. And yet I feel no animosity towards you at all. Isn't that strange?"

"What's strange is the way you came at us like a one man army, but you still hit like a girl."

He saw her nod. "No technique. None of that step-hip-shoulder stuff. I don't weigh enough for it to make any difference. I just brace, draw back and let go, a bolt from a crossbow. Just substitute velocity. It gets the job done."

"Lord, yes." He coughed again. "Payback's a bitch."

"Not my intention. Really. I just wanted to stop you. But you _hurried_ me. You move fast for an old lunger, and you did the _last_ thing I expected, running like that. Diversion?"

"Wasted effort. They didn't have sense enough to run. Was all that true, about when you were a kid?"

She nodded again. "Nothing to get maudlin over. My life is very different now. I was just trying to make a point."

"Christ. We thought we were hurting you."

Her head turned deliberately as a turret to look at the seated men. "Oh, they hurt me."

Luis shivered, glad that look hadn't been directed at _him_.

"You could have skragged all three of us in the parking lot. Why'd you let us take you?"

She turned back to Chuck and shrugged. "The time wasn't right."

He coughed a bit; she waited while he settled down. Quietly, he said, "I knew you'd come for me someday. I was expecting you sooner."

She was silent for ten heartbeats. "Sorry I'm late. It's been a busy millennium already, and it's just started." She indicated his legs. "Hurt?"

"Can't even feel them. I can move the arms, but they're clumsy, and they tingle like they're asleep." He placed a hand on his belly. "This hurts a little. Feels hard."

"Abdominal cavity filling with blood, probably." She duck walked a step until she could reach his knees, and straightened them, letting him roll onto his back. She returned, sat cross-legged, and pulled his head into her lap. Although Luis couldn't see her face, he saw Chuck's clearly, and what he saw startled him. The man was smiling.

"You're pretty. God know why it should matter, but I hoped."

She stroked his hair. "What's your name?"

His brow furrowed. "Chuck. Or Chucky, I guess. You-"

"No, it's not. It never was." She turned her head again to the seated men staring at her. "No one's ever going to call you by that name again."

He inhaled deeply. "Charlemagne."

"Charlemagne. Charles le Magne," she said, pronouncing it "Sharl luh Mon". "Charles the Great. A noble name. Warrior, scholar… lover, by all accounts." She brushed hair off his forehead.

"Ace's is Alexander. Ben-"

She put a finger to his lips. "Ace and Bennie suit them just fine." She brushed it across, softly. "When you hit me that time, you were trying to kill me. A mercy killing."

He blinked. "It wasn't as quick as I wanted, but it wouldn't have been suspicious."

"Later, you urged them to kill me and get another of us." Her voice was still soft, soothing, gentle; but her hand stilled. "Charles, would you have kidnapped one of my girls?"

"No way. I saw the house. Once they were warned, we'd never get at them. With you out of harm's way, Ace would have had to settle for Lynch, if he could." He shifted slightly. "Is he really your old man?"

"Yes. He's everything I said."

"I knew him, a little. He saved my life once, sort of, by going out of his way _not_ to kill me. But I would have shot him dead as soon as I got the chance, just the same."

She stroked his head again. "You tried to save my life later. Why?"

"Hell, by then we'd _all_ taken turns trying to kill you, and it hadn't worked. I just got this weird feeling you weren't meant to die at our hands. Not gasping for breath, anyway. For some reason, you had to see it through to the end."

"Until they let you end it with a bullet. Did you do them all, Charles?"

He closed his eyes. "The zombies weren't so bad; it was like they were dead already. I was just pulling the plug on the machinery. The ones who stayed aware through it all… the ones who could still be afraid, and beg… Their eyes all looked the same." He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "I did them all. Nobody held a gun to my head. And I raped most of them, just like _they_ did, and it wasn't just to keep their trust. When they left us alone this morning, I could have stopped, but I didn't. I wanted you too much."

She brushed the back of her fingers against his cheek. "You wanted _something_, Charles, but you didn't get it from me. At least, not enough to keep you from being angry with yourself. It's all right. You can't expect a monster to rise above its nature _all_ the time. I understand warring impulses, Charles. Believe me." She reached for his hand, held it a moment, and placed it on his chest. "How many is 'all'?"

His eyelids dropped again. "I'm not sure. Isn't that something? At first, I never thought about keeping _count_. I was sure I'd remember each of their faces as long as I lived. But after a while, I realized I was starting to get them mixed up. So I backtracked… and I was shocked at how many we'd done. I counted for a few years… but, after a while, I thought: _why_? It wasn't like we were going to reach a certain number and quit. So I just quit counting."

"So many." She went back to stroking his hair. "And out of all of them, you picked _me _to help. Why? Not because I was Jack's wife, surely?"

"No." He was silent a moment. "There was one girl. We picked her up hitchhiking, on the way to our cabin in the Poconos. Cute little thing, maybe twenty years old, on her way home to Cleveland from NYU. Half Vietnamese. No bigger than a minute, and full of life and trust; we rolled up on her, and she didn't think twice about jumping into a car with three strangers, all grown men. Mouth going a mile a minute; just listening to her talk made you smile." He squeezed his eyes tight. "Her name was Lee. We usually put the rag on them as soon as we got them in the car, but we let her talk right up till we turned off I-80. We must have got a mile north on Five-Eleven before she realized it wasn't another gas stop. Put up a fight, too; Ace and Bennie both lost some skin putting her down. Later, at the start of the party, Benny tried to come on her face; he's still got a scar on his dick from that little mistake. She stayed spunky the whole night, all the time they were using her, telling them what she thought of them. I wouldn't let them gag her.

"Late that night… I took her alone. And she kept talking to me, even while I was… even when I threatened to knock all her teeth out if she didn't shut up. But she had something different to say to me.

"She was smart, like you. She knew what was coming, and how it was going to end. She asked me to finish her _now_, not because she was afraid, she said, but to deny my brothers their fun."

Her voice was velvet. "Did you?"

He shook his head slightly. "It was the first day of a four day weekend. There were four good-sized towns within an hour's drive. If I had, they'd have picked up another one by noon, and I'd have had to do it again." His face looked old and laced with new lines. "She lasted the whole four days. They never got out the toolkits; I guess they got enough entertainment out of her without hearing her scream. She got quiet after that first night, but she didn't slip away, and she fought whenever they gave her the chance, and she was still all there on Monday, when it was time to clean up and go home.

"I spent a lot of that weekend outside, walking around and avoiding the cabin. I should have slept in the car Sunday night, instead of lying in bed listening to them with her. At first light, while they were sleeping, I took her out of the cabin, still naked, and walked her into the woods. They'd been especially rough on her that last night, knowing they wouldn't be using her anymore. She was weak as a kitten. It was only half a mile, but she stumbled so many times I thought I'd have to carry her. But we finally got there, to a pit four feet deep and the shovel sticking out of the dirt. I told her to kneel in front of the hole.

"Instead, she turned and looked me in the eye. Her neck was all bruised up from the ropes, and her hair was a matted mess, and her makeup was all aver her face. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. 'Let my parents know I'm dead,' she said. 'Don't let them wonder.' Her wrists were taped together in front. She showed me her class ring, the only thing she was still wearing, and begged me to get it to them."

He lifted his hand to show her the pinky ring Luis had noticed in the car. "I took it, but I never got it to them. Too risky. Had to have it enlarged three sizes, just to get it on my little finger. She had tiny hands, like yours." He tugged at it. "Don't suppose it'll fit you now. But there's an inscription on the inside, might be able to track down her family with it."

She laid a hand over his, stopping him. "I'll get it later. Leave it on your hand for now. Do I remind you of her, then?"

He nodded. "From the moment you opened your eyes and started talking. Made the hair on the back of my neck rise." His mouth worked without a sound before he spoke again. "She insisted I take it first, so she'd know. She couldn't do it herself; I had to put my hand between hers, touch her like a boyfriend to slide it off. And then I…" His eyes went blank. "If there'd been someone to fill in the hole, I'd have used the gun again, and dropped into it with her."

"Charles, how did you let yourself become a part of this?"

His face took on a tired, resigned expression. "They're my brothers."

"Family's important," she agreed, "but that's not an explanation."

"The same way a lot of people get into shit they hate themselves for later, I suppose. With one little moral compromise.

"They're my half brothers. My dad was one of Old Bill's bodyguards, and took a bullet for him when I was two. Mom's second husband put those two in her between prison terms. Around her, they were little darlings; she loved them – or loved what she thought they were, anyway. I knew better. They were nothing but trouble from the time they could walk; mean and sneaky. Our little dog wouldn't go near them. I know small kids are ear-pullers until they learn better. But those little shits were still doing it when they were four; they loved hearing her yelp.

"One day I hear Coco screaming and howling from the back yard; never heard anything like it. Back of the garage, out of sight of the house, we had a burn barrel for paper and cardboard and dropped limbs. I round the garage and _they're_ stepping back from the barrel: they've got cinder blocks on either side so they can look in, and a big can of lighter fluid on the ground, and something's burning in it.

"It was the dog, of course. I was already too late; she was burned all over and hardly twitching by the time I got her out. The skin just _slid _off her when I picked her up. And those sick little fucks stood there and watched me. I was just nine years old. They were four and five, and it should have been their last day on earth, because I'd had that dog since before they were born, and I cared about her a lot more than I did them."

As Chuck spoke, the years seemed to drop off him, and through Luis' horror at all that had happened the past few minutes, he marveled at the change in the man. His voice was higher-pitched, softer, his diction clear. It was as if the tortured boy whose story he was telling was doing the talking.

"But I told myself Mom would go crazy if she knew what happened, and she'd find some way to blame herself. So I dug a hole at the other corner of the garage, and buried my first victim." He sighed. "After that, I buried a lot of neighborhood pets. About the time they turned ten, they started terrorizing smaller kids. That was harder to hush up, but I did it. It would have killed her to find out what _creatures_ she was raising."

Luis felt his horror fade, replaced by sheer repulsion. He looked at his seated uncles as if they were zoo specimens. Ace was jerking this way and that, trying to free himself, hardly paying attention to what was going on in the living room; but Bennie was listening to every word, his face a mask of fear.

"When I was almost nineteen, Bennie comes to me all panicky and leads me into a little utility building behind the church. Ace is there with a local girl, some little teenybopper with a reputation. They'd roped her wrists to the trusses, her pants were off, and she was hanging there like a broken puppet, dead. They'd stuffed a rag down her throat with a screwdriver. They said they were trying to gag her. _I _think they knew exactly what they were doing to her, but they didn't think about what they were going to do afterwards. They were always shortsighted like that when they were caught up in their fun.

"That was my second chance to make the world a better place, by letting them swing. But there was still Mom to protect. I wrapped the body up in a tarp with some hoes and shovels, so it didn't look _just_ like a body in a tarp. Then I put it in the trunk of my new car and headed for the landfill. I dropped it in a low spot where the bulldozers were working, and I stayed there watching until it was buried under six feet of trash and dirt. On the way out, I opened the car door and lost my lunch. The guy at the gate saw me, and thought the smell had got to me. 'Not a biggie,' he says to me. 'You can get used to anything, you're around it long enough.' I had reason to remember those words later.

"I got home and Mom scolded me. She said just because I was driving now didn't mean I was too big to make it home for supper. She said, 'Your little brothers are more responsible than you are anymore.' The little fucks were at the table, working on dessert; you could almost see the halos over their heads. Good appetites, too. They had the munchies, they were still so high on what they'd done, now that they weren't scared of getting caught. I sat there pushing my food around and watching the looks they gave each other, and I almost threw up again, because I was sure they were going to _do_ it again, and I was going to have to keep cleaning up after them." He glanced at his brothers. "That was when I sold my soul.

"I had a little talk with them the next day. I knew better than to think anything I said would make them stop. Instead, I told them that if they wanted my help, I had to be in on their game. I said I couldn't keep dumping bodies at the landfill; making their next victim disappear would take planning. I needed to know what they were up to as soon as they did, and that meant being a part of their plans." His mouth twisted. "So we started planning them together, _doing_ them together, and me always making sure things stayed tidy and they never had to worry about getting caught. By the time Mom died, I was picking out our victims."

She shook her head slightly. "And it was too late to quit."

"Way too late. We'd been doing it for fifteen years; twenty or twenty-five women. We usually kidnapped them together." He closed his eyes. "I can't remember now, how they talked me into joining in on the rapes. I don't want to remember. I'd got a gun. I insisted on being the one to finish them. I acted like I was getting off on it, but I was just trying to make sure they didn't suffer any more. I thought too much about that first girl, and how long it must have taken her to die with that rag stuffed down her throat while they were pumping her." He turned his head away. "She still had tears on her cheeks when I wrapped her up."

He turned his head back to look up at her. "If I'd quit helping them, they'd have been caught; they were too careless. But I was the one who'd done murder. They'd have sung like canaries, and I'd have got the death sentence while they sat warm and safe in prison. Or even…We were doing rough work for the Family by then, and making a name for ourselves as guys who didn't mind getting their hands dirty. For enough crap on the Family, the DA might have even made a parole deal with them, and they'd be walking by the time my appeals ran out and they stuck the needles in my arms.

"I was damned and already in Hell. I just got numb to it, mostly. Busting heads and shooting people for the Family was charity work by comparison, and I threw myself into it and got noticed and moved up, with those two schmucks riding my coattails. And every six or eight months, they'd get almost itchy enough to do a girl without me, so we'd take a little time off and go hunting."

An odd little smile grew on his face. "Somewhere along the way, I started getting this weird idea that _somebody_ must know what we were up to. _I_ wasn't keeping count anymore, but somebody was, and they were going to come for us someday. I almost looked forward to it; the idea that we were all going to pay someday made the world seem a saner place. It was kind of comforting." The smile faded. "I wish we hadn't got the boy mixed up in this."

She stroked his forehead. "Don't worry about it."

"What are you going to do with him? He's a good kid. He didn't have a choice coming here. He didn't really have any choice about what he did to you, either."

"What happens next is up to him. I'll help him, all I can."

_I'll help her. All I can._ Luis's hand tightened on the gun; just reflex. He was sure he was helpless to stop her from doing anything she wanted.

His uncle took a deep breath and let it out. "At least the little shits are finally going to get what they deserve."

"No, they're not."

He looked back up at her. "Eh?"

She shook her head. "I'd have to keep them alive for twenty years to give them what they deserve."

"Heh. Yeah, that's so."

"You're strong, Charles. You could be last, if you want. Bear witness."

He shook his head. "I know how it's going to end. I've seen enough of that. Will you just do me quick?"

"You'll never see it coming."

He smiled up at her. "Thanks. For that, and being such a good sport about this, playing along with me."

"Good sport?"

The smile turned wry. "I know I'm crazy. But I'm not delusional. I know I haven't really been confessing to some Angel of Death. We just picked the wrong girl finally, some little chickie who's been busting boards in a kimono since she was eight. Your old man's the most dangerous prick I ever heard of. We should have given more thought to the kind of girl he'd fall for."

"Perhaps you should do that now." She bent low over him until their faces were inches apart. "Charles, do you remember your mother's eyes?"

"Sure. Beautiful eyes. All shades of gray, like storm clouds. That was when she was happy. When she got pissed, they turned flat as a sheet of steel. She could never fool me, pretending she was mad when she wasn't, or mad and trying to act like nothing was wrong. Her eyes always gave her away." The smile disappeared as he looked up at her. Luis couldn't tell what the man saw, but it stole the color from his face. "Mary Mother of God."

"And Lee's? Surely you haven't forgotten."

"Brown," he said, his voice filling with wonder. "So dark you could barely see the pupils."

"Right again." The air rushed out of him as he stared up at her. His eyes jittered, the way they do when you're looking at something that's moving a little too fast to catch. "Are you sure you don't remember them all, Charles? Not even the eyes?"

His eyes teared up. "Forgive me," he said softly.

She held his head in her hands. "Already did," she said, and kissed him gently on the lips in absolution.

The crunch as she suddenly twisted his head was as startling as a gunshot.

She placed her fingertips on the man's fluttering eyelids until they stilled. "Shh. Sleep." After a few moments, she laid her palm on his chest briefly. "Strong heart." She rose to her knees and arranged him as if he were resting, giving extra attention to his head. She didn't remove his ring.

Then she stood and turned towards the two seated men. She lifted her head like a hound; her nostrils flared. "Ahh. Fear stink," she said appreciatively. "How I've missed it. And… has one of you soiled himself already? Ben-_nie_?"

She drifted slowly towards Bennie's chair in the kitchen. The route would bring her and Luis close enough to join hands. When she got within six feet of him, she turned her head away; even stranger, she altered her course as if to stay out of reach, curving around him until she was past, and then resuming her original course. It hit him then: _she's not ignoring me, she's avoiding me._

She continued until her feet touched the linoleum of the kitchen and stopped. "Luis. Baby," she said without turning. "You remember what we talked about earlier, what you should do." It was chilling to listen to: Anne's words robbed of inflection or emotion, a note being read to him by a stranger. "Do it now. Keep still and wait. Someone will come for you. It may not be me, but I'll send someone. Someone kind."

"Kid." Ace's voice was low and deadly earnest. "Luis. Forget everything that went before. _Look at her_. She comes for you, you won't live through it. _Shoot_ her."

"Best to leave the gun on the floor," she said, as if Ace hadn't spoken. "But if you're afraid to let it go, I understand. You should at least safe it, though, so you don't shoot yourself by accident. The safety is a sliding switch on the left side of the grip, near your thumb." She took a small step towards Bennie. "Better leave now, darling. That pistol in your hand draws me to you like catnip. If you're still here two minutes from now…" She took another step. "Just don't be here in two minutes."

He looked at her: the stillness of her form, a trap ready to spring; the tiny naked body, pale and smooth, that he could still feel under his hands; the chain that dangled from her left wrist. His thumb found the safety and flicked it on. He backed towards the living room and the door to the bedrooms, never taking his eyes off her.

III

"Bennie," she cooed, "you're my _special_ man, did you know? I've been dreaming about you since I met you. In the car, when you thought I was unconscious and you had your hands all over me under my clothes, I had a fantasy about you that was so vivid, I could hardly keep _my_ hands off _you_. When you hung me by my neck like a deer ready to be dressed out, so that your brother could feel me thrash while he raped me, I had another. And when you bound my wrists and ankles to that pole and shoved my face into the carpet… my imagination went on _afterburner_."

He found the doorway and backed through it, cutting off the sight of her advancing on Bennie, and the look on his face.

Ace stilled as soon as the kid disappeared through the doorway. He was too tightly bound to get free, and the chair was too sturdy to break. If he were free and had a gun in his hand, he didn't think it would make a difference, not with her facing him. Their only chance had been convincing the kid to put one in her from behind. But she hadn't even bothered to disarm him; she'd _known_ he wouldn't shoot her. _How fucking ironic; I'm going to die because of some sweet talk and a tight pussy._

She shook her head, giving his brother a little smile. "Bennie, you're a _mess_. We can't leave you like that." She knelt down in front of him, carefully removing his shoes and socks like a properly trained wife. "You know, you should have let me cook dinner. It was a genuine offer. You'd have rolled your eyes at every bite, I swear."

His brother gripped the arms of the chair, trembling. The fucker wasn't even tied down, but he wasn't going anywhere anyway. When she reached for the button on his soaked pants, his hands moved towards them, whether to stop her or help, he probably didn't even know. "No," she said firmly. "Let Mama do it." His hands went back to the chair arms. She unzipped him, grabbed the waistband in both hands, and whisked pants and underwear off him at the same time, lifting his butt off the seat and feet off the floor as he gripped the arms. "_This_ is how you do it."

She went to the sink and looked around the counters. "Isn't there even a rag around here?" She looked back at Bennie. "Guess we'll just have to make do." She gently broke his grip on the chair, one hand at a time, and lifted his stiff arms, slipping them out of the sleeves of his unbuttoned flannel shirt and lifting it off him. She must have got impatient then, because she suddenly ripped off his white tee, leaving him naked and gasping with fright. "This'll do. Be right back." She ran hot water in the sink as she tore the tee into rags. "Yep, rolled your eyes at every bite and said 'thank you' afterwards. I'd have been glad to do it. Every man about to die should get a good meal."

She came back with a couple of wet rags and wiped Bennie's thighs; she mopped the chair seat, pushing her hand under his brother's ass to get it clean. The man lifted his legs, one at a time, like a little kid. Her hand paused between his thighs and under his bulging belly. "Oh, dear. Where _are_ you?" She smiled at him. "You certainly felt bigger than this before. Everything's drawn right up inside you." The smile disappeared. "Just like a rat's."

She knelt in front of him with her forearms across his knees, looking up at him. "You said once that if you could get a blowjob off me, you'd die happy. Did you mean it? I'm feeling accommodating."

_How the hell did she know that? Has she heard everything we said? Have we been that thoroughly played? Was this whole thing a setup to get us alone and far from home?_

"Come on, stud," she cooed. "Show me one as big as you did before, and I'll give you the blowjob of your life." She smiled and ran a tongue over her lips.

_Bitch. He's too scared to piss, much less anything else. And we all know that if his dick goes in her mouth, it's not coming back out. Not attached, anyway._

"Changed your mind? Maybe I need to raise the offer?" She stood, gripped the ends of the chair arms, and tore them out of the seat; Bennie's arms flew wide as she cast the pieces aside. She sat straddling him. "Put them around me, lover. You know you want to." He put his hands gingerly on her bare back, in the little hollow just above her ass; she squirmed forward up his thighs until their bare bellies were touching, which still gave her room to put her hands on his shoulders. "Mmm. Face-to-face, my favorite. Final offer, Bennie. You ever had a girl who fucks like a mink? When was the last time you even had a willing partner?" Sitting in his lap just about brought them eye-to-eye; she dropped her chin and looked at him through lowered lashes. "No more second best, lover. I know tricks I didn't dare show the boy. Just get it up for me, Bennie, and I'll do all the rest. You'll die screaming my name." She drew her head back slightly. "Oh. You don't _know_ my name, _do_ you? You never asked, never heard it. To you, I'm just 'the little bitch'." She stroked his ear with her thumb. The chain on her wrist dragged across his right shoulder and caressed his man-tit; he flinched like it was a branding iron. "Well, you'll die screaming, anyway."

"I'm sorry. Please." His brother looked like a little kid trying not to cry; his voice was hardly more than a whisper. His lower lip pooched out and quivered a little. _Jesus Christ, _Ace thought._ Die like a man._

She smiled. "You don't need to beg, lover. Just get it up and you can have all you can handle."

"Don't."

She cocked her head, still smiling. "Don't what?"

Bennie's eyes were red-rimmed hollows in his pasty face. His throat was so tight, his words squeezed out in a mousy little squeak. "Please. Don't. Hurt me."

All the insane good humor disappeared from her face. _If he could see her now, the kid would shoot her in a heartbeat._ She looked at Bennie through slitted eyes. "You've _got _to be joking."

III

Lynch started awake and sat up, looking over the steering wheel into the gloom. As always, he woke instantly alert; he knew exactly where he was, and only a glance at his car clock told him he'd dozed off for less than an hour. He even knew what had wakened him. He reached for his cell phone before it began its second ring. "Yes?"

"Dad." Bobby's voice; his use of that title proved how worried his son was. "What's going _on_? We're trying not to crowd you, but things are getting really tense here. Where are you?"

"I'm on a hilltop overlooking where they're keeping her. She's all right, and I was in contact with her just three hours ago." _For about ten seconds, before she told me to leave her alone and clicked off._ "She asked me to wait for a signal, so I'm doing that, now I know she's safe." _Does that count as a lie? I don't like the way she's sounding._

"The girls know something's up, Dad, and neither of us can lie worth spit. Eddie's going to crack. Unless his own hide is on the line, he can't keep secrets from Rox."

"Did they find what we brought home?"

"Are you _kidding?_" The boy hissed. "You think I'd be in any shape to talk if they found that stuff? And realized we'd been hiding it from them? We're barely holding the barricade as it is."

He couldn't help smiling into the phone. "Who's spearheading the assault?"

"Kat, who else?"

"Get her to the phone."

In seconds, the big redhead's voice filled his ear. "Mr. Lynch? If you don't want to train a new team leader, you'd better tell us what's going on. I'm not-"

"Stop. Of _course_ I'll tell you. Why do you think I want you on the phone?" His smile spread again. "Unless you really need to finish that tirade. Get it all out. Then we'll talk."

A moment of silence. "No."

"Good. Anna's on a job for us, working undercover. I'm surveilling her right now, ready to go in if she signals. Quite by accident, she discovered someone who knows our whereabouts, and she's tracing that knowledge to its source before IO gets wind. But she's playing a role, and you know how she gets. I'm trying to interfere as little as possible until she calls."

She said slowly, "Is it dangerous? Do you need help?"

"I need patience. She's playing three old geezers and a teenage boy, and she acts as if they'll break in her hands if she treats them too roughly. She made me promise to let her handle it; I guess she thinks they'll all have heart attacks if I come through the door. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, subdued. "When will you be home?"

He almost lifted his wrist to his eyes until he remembered his watch was still at the base of the cell phone tower. "Tomorrow at the latest. Will you starve without a grownup around?"

"Mr. Lynch, there are _plenty_ of grownups in this house. We were worried, that's all."

"All right, Caitlin. Put Bobby back on for a minute."

"Okay. Wait! I can tell the others about this?"

"I was hoping you would." Bobby came back on the line. "All right. All you know is that you two helped me return the car, nothing else. Do you think Eddie can handle that?"

"Uh. Sure. No problem." A pause. "What are you going to do?"

He peered through the windshield; the sun was just below the horizon, and the light was uncertain, but the house below him had a few lights in its windows. "Wait till the clock strikes twelve. Then I go in after her."

III

Ace rested his chin on his chest with his eyes open to slits, breathing shallowly and waiting for the latest wave of nausea and dizziness to pass. Keeping his eyes open was the only way to keep the room from spinning; but getting a good look at the room around him was sure to force the last few drops of bile from his stomach, and his throat and nasal passages were seared from the last time.

A tiny hand appeared, pressing its palm flat against his chest, unmindful of the cold puke caking his shirt. Since the hand and arm were coated with a chunky salsa of human remains, he supposed a little bit of stomach contents was no big deal. "Your heart is stronger than I thought. You've got an arrhythmia, but it just keeps dragging and bumping along. Maybe it's all that aspirin you eat. If only I'd known, it would have saved so much unpleasantness. My bad."

The other hand appeared, just as gory, with a glass of water; her fingers left little red streaks on the outside. "Here."

He swallowed. "Can't."

"Then rinse and spit. You'll feel better."

He stared at the glass in her bloody hand. "Why are you doin this? You're crazy. Totally insane."

Her voice got edgy. "You mean crazy beyond what might be expected? After a day and night of torture, rape, and sodomy? Yes. Jack warned you."

"Whuh?"

"He told you not to piss me off. If you'd ever really known him, you'd have taken him seriously." She waggled the glass. "But I used up all my mad on Bennie. And you look so forlorn sitting there. I can see why your mother and big brother spoiled you, why you never really grew up." She lifted it to his lips. He took a mouthful, rinsed, and lifted his head just long enough to spit at her. It should have got her square in the face; she didn't seem to move. But the stream passed over her shoulder. "You know, I don't know why I dodged that. I could use a bath."

_Fuck yes, you could._ She looked like she'd been standing at the discharge chute of a wood chipper while somebody fed a body into the hopper. Her front was coated in red and purple goo, with a smattering of other colors. It was all Bennie. He looked at her face. There was a sliver of something that looked like a bone fragment in her eyelashes; she blinked, depositing it on her cheek. She didn't bother to wipe it away.

_Get a grip. You've chopped up stiffs before, to get rid of them; ground them up, buried them, burned them. You've got messy doing it too. It's just meat and gristle and bones and shit._

_Bullshit. What she did had nothing to do with taking out the garbage. She was bathing in it._

He'd watched her suddenly wrap her legs around his brother's, not in passion, but for purchase, and plunge her hands into Bennie's chest; heard the wet crunching as she ripped his ribs out of his chest and spread them like she was opening a book, splashing her from thighs to forehead with blood and God knows what else. His brother couldn't even draw a breath to scream as she'd pulled his insides out of him and scattered them around the kitchen. But he was alive and feeling it; you could tell by his face.

Ace had vomited until he passed out. When he came to, Bennie was dead, and she was _really_ going to work on him. She'd torn him apart, broken the parts into pieces, and broken the pieces into smaller pieces, all with her bare hands. She'd cracked his skull open and stomped his brains into paste, popped his eyes and his balls between her fingers. She'd ground all the bone fragments between her hands until there was nothing left of him bigger than a kitchen match. And she'd done it all without once covering her teeth with her lips.

He'd vomited some more, until his throat filled with acid and he felt dizzy. He'd been contemptuous of Bennie for begging her not to hurt him, for not dying like a man. If he'd known what she intended, he might have been a little more sympathetic. He hoped he'd give a better account of himself when his turn came.

And it was about his turn, apparently. She offered him the glass again; this time he managed to swallow a little and ease the burning in his throat.

"Better?"

He swallowed. "Yeah. What do you want from me?"

"I already got what I came for, Ace. I was about to kill all three of you in the parking lot, but you mentioned Jack's name just in time. The knowledge in your head was your stay of execution; when you told me how you found us, the stay was lifted."

"So why am I still alive?"

"There's plenty of time." She turned the chair he was taped to, away from the gluey mess in the chair his brother had sat in and the walls that had got the worst of the little psycho's rage. "How would you like to kill some time? Care to play 'Trading Secrets' again?"

"What's in it for me?"

Her eyelids drooped. "Well, for starters, it beats being torn to pieces."

"That's gonna happen anyway."

She shook her head. "Doesn't have to. I'm feeling better now. I'll make you the same offer you made me, Ace, except I'll keep my word. Play nice, and I'll be quick and sudden." She smiled. "I'll even let you ask the first question. Come on. Satisfy your curiosity."

He swallowed. "Who are you, really?"

"That's a question for the philosophers. Short version? I'm Anne Devereaux, common-law wife to Jack Lynch and surrogate mom to his son and four wards. Also his partner in various Federal crimes. Also, a former government assassin, like Jack." She smiled slyly. "Thought you were selling the boy a line of BS, didn't you? I _knew_ you fell for that shotgun story."

"So where was the goddam gun?"

"That's a second question, Ace. But that's okay. The one I've got for you is a biggie." She raised her red-stained palm like she was stopping traffic. "The gun? I had it all along." He gagged again as the base of her wrist split without a drop of blood. He was looking at a bore as big as a water pipe, put inside her arm somehow. "Is that a wild place to hide a gun, or what? It took some engineering to fit that in there, I can tell you. It's not a shotgun, either, by the way. It's a twenty-millimeter rifle. A month ago, I knocked a chopper out of the sky with it."

"Jesus."

She smiled. "Welcome to the big leagues, tough guy. There are teams and players out there that make the Bennettis look like Little Leaguers. Jack used to run one of the nastiest, but he didn't leave on good terms with his former employers, and we wouldn't want them to find us. That's why learning how _you_ found us was so important… and why I let you live long enough to tell me."

"What about the boy?"

She cocked her head. "Why do you care?"

"Just curious. You think you can let him live and still keep what you did a secret?" _Remind her I'm not the only one neck-deep in shit here._

"Secret? You can't let something like that lie between husband and wife, Ace; it would sour the relationship. I'll lay it all out for him and let him decide what he wants to do with me. He'll be fair. As for the boy… he'll want to take him in and finish raising him, I know it. I just hope I'm there to see it."

He focused on her face until it seemed to be at the end of a tunnel. "You think he'd trust you two under the same roof?"

She shook her head, smiling. "You don't understand, Ace. If he forgives me, that'll be the end of it. He won't give it a second thought. He won't see the boy as a threat. Jack knows if I can have him, I won't want anyone else. He doesn't have any doubts about his appeal… or his masculinity."

_Bitch._

"Okay, my turn. Ace, Jack doesn't remember you. He doesn't remember your wife. It's very unlike him. So tell me a story. Where did he meet your wife, and what happened after? Oh. One thing." Her hand shot past him, startling him, and buried itself in the drywall next to him. She pulled her fist back out with an electrical cable gripped in it. She pulled it out of the wall in a shower of plaster dust, reminding him sickeningly of the way she'd torn Benny open. An outlet box came free. She yanked the box off, exposing the cable, and split and trimmed the wires with her fingernails until she had a two-tined barbeque fork with two live wires three or four inches apart. "You remember what you said you'd do if you caught me bullshitting you?" She pointed the fork at his face; the tines lined up perfectly with his eyes.

July 24 1987  
New York City

"Got a little job for you boys." Bill smiled and leaned back in his desk chair. "The work's easy enough, but it's important. Could be a very big deal for you." His gesture included all three of them, but it was Chucky he was looking at. That was okay with Ace; it wasn't the first time big brother had come in handy, or Bill had played favorites. The old man's fondness for Chucky was getting them all a leg up. "You know what we're putting together at Newtown?"

They all nodded; every wiseguy in the outfit knew about it. Sometimes the Organization had business dealings with other outfits, or individuals if they were well-recommended and well-funded. The Family acted as a contractor for unusual deals, putting the people and resources together into a package and charging a fee. It made occasional extra money for the outfit, and spread their rep as a group who got things done. Two weeks ago, they'd been approached for a _huge_ deal: some guy wanted a shipment of light arms that would outfit a small army. It would have been suspicious as hell if he hadn't had so much cash to put up front; Feds never risked that kind of money on sting operations.

"We're runnin into a little snag. This is the biggest gun shipment _anybody _ever put together, and it's takin a while to fill the order. We're draining the stocks of every gun runner on the East Coast who doesn't have prior commitments. And this guy Lynch is a freakin micromanager. I mean, he's _driven_. Doesn't say so, but he must be workin to a deadline, else he wouldn't be paying these kinda prices. You'd think he was plottin a freakin revolution. The guy's a perfect front man; he knows the merchandise and keeps his clients in the background. But he's flown in four times in the past two weeks, checkin our progress. We put him up and try to entertain him, wine and dine him, even send hookers to his room, but all he wants to do is talk shop. He wants to know what every dealer is selling, and if we can squeeze any more out of him. He keeps pushing us to find more dealers – as if everybody with a gun to sell isn't beating on our door for a piece of this. If somebody's not on board because he's got a prior commitment, Lynch wants to know who he is so he can make em a better offer. He's doing end runs around the purchasing boys, and they get nervous around him. He makes em feel like they're under the gun. No pun intended."

The three of them laughed at the _capo_'s little joke.

"The guy doesn't stay put either. I hear tell he wanders all over the neighborhoods talkin to people. God knows what trouble he might get into." Bill leaned forward in his chair. "For his good and ours too, he needs looking after. I want you boys to squire him around. Stick close. Keep him outta trouble." He waggled a finger at them. "Be polite. Don't get his nose out of joint. This deal is worth millions, and it may not be the last time we do business with these guys. Make him feel like the guest of honor at a party, not a suitful of trouble. If you do it right, he shouldn't mind. He looks like a guy come up hard. You should get along, eh?"

Ace was feeling good about this new job; it sounded like a big step up from running other gangs' pushers out of the neighborhoods. He could hardly wait to get started. If they did good on this assignment, got their faces in among some million-dollar players, there was no telling what doors might open.

They were hunting the guy down now, trying to link up. None of them had ever met Lynch, but they had a picture and a list of his usual haunts. Chasing the fucker down was harder than it should have been; after coming into the neighborhoods for two weeks, the guy acted like he owned the place, and people weren't treating him like a stranger anymore. Hell, some of the people they'd talked to had thought he was in the Family.

The last place they'd been pointed to was Napoli's, a little deli lunchroom that just happened to be owned by his wife's cousin. As Chuck dropped him off at the curb, he smiled to himself. If Lynch had already moved on, they could still stop for a bite. The food was tasty, and Luisa's cousin Sal was always good for a free meal. The little squirrel got twitchy whenever they walked in, as if he could ever get in enough trouble to rate an _official_ visit from the three of them.

He stepped in and looked the place over: the six-seat counter and two tables were empty. Sal stood behind the register, looking scared as always; the sight was more satisfying than the food sometimes. He put on his business face. He brought out the picture, intending to ask Sal if he'd seen the guy in there today. He never got the chance.

Sal's reaction was off the scale. "Jesus, you gotta believe me, Ace. I didn't know a thing about it. Not until I seen em coming out of the back room."

_Back room? Lynch got some side business going on?_ He gave the little weasel a stern look. "I believe you. Probably. Tell it."

"He was just sittin here, same as usual, lookin out the window with his soup and bread and a little glass of wine. Luisa comes in like she does alla time, dressed to the nines, gonna grab a bite and take something to her sister on Long Island. The guy's sittin at her favorite table by the window, so she asks to share. They spend maybe half an hour there, chattin like old friends. I go out the side door to empty the trash, and when I come back, they're both gone. I'm still wiping the table when she comes out of the stockroom, lookin like she got picked up and dropped by a fuckin tornado and she's not sure where she is, and leaves without a word. A couple minutes later, _he_ comes out and leaves, goin the other way. It was maybe half an hour ago. I wasn't holdin anything back, swear to God. I just didn't know what to do."

Bennie and Chuck had come in by this time; it probably saved the little schmuck's life. "Where are they now?" Chuck asked.

"Luisa's on her way to her sister's for the weekend. I don't know where he went."

"How often do they come in here?" Chuck was asking the questions while Ace seethed.

"He's been in five-six times. I've never seen em together till now."

He knew Chuck was still asking questions, but he wasn't listening. He was sorting out his feelings about the situation. It wasn't like she'd broken his heart; they didn't even like each other, really. The introduction had come as a favor to his mother from Bill, same as Bennie's to the girl he married. How the girls had been talked into accepting him and Bennie as husband-bait was something they refused to discuss. But the brothers would have been crazy to turn their noses up at such a gift from the _capo_.

Marriage to her was a disappointment. Luisa was prime stuff, a trophy in public, but a mannequin in bed, and _definitely_ didn't share his tastes in foreplay. They couldn't trade ten words without getting in a fight, and he didn't dare hurt her. If she died in a car crash, he wouldn't shed a tear. His anger was pure wounded pride.

But that was enough to make him want to kill them both.

July 31 1987  
Newtown New York

"This is a big mistake. We're supposed to be _guarding_ this guy, for Chrissake. We should be taking this to Bill."

Ace turned his head towards his brother. "You want out, Chucky, better make it quick. He'll be comin off the boat any minute."

They were waiting for Lynch at the dock where "his" ship was loading, a bulk carrier with some semi-sized undeclared packages getting buried under tons of grain. The order was finally filled and the ship ready to sail, and the dockhands and crew had been hustled off to avoid any witnesses when the front man came aboard with the Organization's agent to make a final inspection of his merchandise. He and Chuck were out of sight among the big metal containers on the dock, between the ship and the parking lot. Ace intended to let Lynch make the final payment, to minimize the fallout from the Family, then pick him up as soon as he split from the others and take him someplace where they could crush the fucker's nuts with a pair of pliers.

Chuck dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, unwrapped it, shook one out, and stuck it in his mouth. As he reached for the lighter, Ace said, "What the fuck? When did you start smokin again?"

His brother looked at the lighter. "Tonight. This is the first one." He lit up, took a drag, and nearly coughed up his heart. "Shit. The first one I _ever_ had wasn't this bad."

"It's all that fuckin runnin you do. Ruins your lungs."

Chuck tossed the butt down and stepped on it. "Maybe I should try easing into it."

He looked up towards the catwalk on the grain elevator where Bennie was watching the ship, waiting to give the signal when Lynch came down the gangplank. "Been doin a lot of new things this year. All that runnin and workin out. Goin to school at night – shit, you even talk like a teacher now, what's up with that? Whatcha takin in school, anyway, accounting? Wanna put on a fuckin suit every day and sit in an office? You think that's your way up the ladder?"

"What's eating _you_? Besides the obvious."

He leveled a look at his brother. "Me and Bennie been watchin you with this guy for a week now. From what I see, you been gettin along pretty good. You sure you're up for this?"

"We never talked about anything but the deal, Ace. I told you that. _Somebody _had to follow orders and stick close to him, and _you_ sure couldn't have done it for a week. What's _eating _you?"

_You're slipping away from us, that's what's eating me. We used to hang out together sometimes, when we weren't working or playing games with girls. Now you fill your time with shit we don't share. You got friends we don't know, maybe you even got a girlfriend. The old lady's sick; she hasn't got much longer. I think you're toying with the idea of cutting us loose._

He looked up at the catwalk again; still no signal. "Guess I'm gettin the itch for some squeaky pussy. Got anything lined up?"

His brother didn't glance his way. "Not this moment."

_Not keeping the little black book filled? Very bad sign. _Still looking up at the catwalk, he said, "I'm thinkin of a nice weekend trip. Maybe with that little number I seen at the school. You know the one? Standin out front of the office, the time I picked you up to do the kneecap job on that scammin bookie? Wavy blonde hair, glasses?" _The one you were talking to when I pulled up? The one that was smiling at you?_

"Are you _nuts_? You _never_ pick up someone you know, not even someone you've been seen with. You might as well leave the body on your front lawn."

He shrugged. "_I_ don't know her. You don't need to come along every time. She'll ride up to the cabin just fine in the trunk. And I know how to dig a hole. Just stay home and make yourself seen."

"Forget it. I got a couple possibles. Let me check them out."

"Well, don't take too long, brother," he said, smiling inside. "I got a lot of frustration to work out."

He saw Bennie sprinting along the catwalk. "Uh oh. Showtime." His brother scooted down the ladder, still agile as a monkey despite the spare tire he was starting to get. He reached the bottom and paused long enough to pull out a comb before he joined them. "On his way. Just amblin along like a tourist."

"What about all the guys he came with?" Lynch had boarded with the Organization's agent for the deal, a couple of procurement guys, and four bodyguards.

"Still on the boat. He's all alone." Bennie ran the comb through his hair, front to back.

"Tell me somethin, Bennie. You think that pompadour hides that bald spot you're gettin? Ya look like the Fonz."

Bennie gave him a sour look. "Yeah? News flash, Ace: Woodstock's over. When you gonna cut your hair? Ya look like a girl with that fuckin tail."

"You guys want to keep it down? _Just _in case he hasn't heard us already?" Chuck was jumpy. It was out of character; he was usually an iceman on a job. _Did they get friendly, or is it something else?_

"Now, what's eatin _you_?"

"Like you said, I been with him a week. He reminds me of Rolando."

Rolando was a high-end hitter, an especially spooky sonofabitch who, it was rumored, had been doing pretty much the same work for the CIA before he became a contractor. Nobody in their right mind would make eye contact with the guy for more than a couple seconds. "What, he's been fillin your ears with bullshit about jobs he's done?"

"He doesn't breathe a word about jobs he did before. It's the eyes. He looks at things all around him like he's on patrol in Vietnam or something, like he's always ready to draw iron and finish whatever somebody starts. He hasn't said a cross word to anybody, the whole week I've been dogging him. But I want to have a gun pointed at his head before he notices he's not alone."

Ace huffed. "Sounds like you need some R and R more than I do."

They settled down and waited. Time stretched, and he started feeling edgy. It wasn't _that_ long a walk to the lot, and Lynch would have to come this way. The overhead crane left enough space between the rows of semi-sized steel containers to walk between, but the rows stretched across the whole dockyard from fence to fence, leaving this one street to get from the lot to the dock. Ambling or not, he should have come into view by now.

He wasn't the only one getting impatient; Chuck peeked around the corner towards the docks, then turned to look at the lot just behind them. Then he drew his piece and disappeared around the corner, headed for the docks.

He and Bennie traded looks. "Fuck. I thought this was gonna be easy. Now it's gonna be fun." He reached into his jacket for his gun, checked the load and the action. "Stay here, make sure he doesn't slip by."

He edged around the corner. Chuck was already out of sight. He couldn't have traveled the hundred yards to the dockside; he must be between one of the rows. Probably Lynch was too. How he'd got wise was a question they'd ask him while they were dousing him with kerosene. He poked his head around each row as he came to it. In the fourth one, he found Chuck about twenty feet in, facedown in the dirt.

"I've got his gun." The voice came from behind him. He resisted the impulse to whirl around. _Where the fuck was he hiding?_

He raised his hands slowly, with the gun still in his hand. "What now?"

"Drop the gun, turn, and kick it my way."

He dropped the piece and turned. Lynch was four steps away. He had a gun, all right, but the fucker was tucked into his belt.

The front man gave him the eye. "Don't be stupid. Kick it to me."

He weighed his chances of diving for the gun and getting a shot off before Lynch drilled him; they didn't seem good. He kicked the forty-five across the concrete; it stopped about a step short, but Lynch didn't move to pick it up. He thought about the backup gun in his leg holster; he'd practiced, and he knew he could get it out in about two seconds. All he needed was a distraction: Benny or one of the guys from the boat showing up.

Lynch stepped towards him, his mouth a thin line. "For all the money at stake in this deal, you'd think they'd send some _talent _after me. Next time you post a lookout, hide him, and keep him in place until the op is over. The way your buddy jumped as soon as I came down the plank, he might as well have shouted 'he's coming' through a bullhorn." He picked up Ace's gun with his left hand. Suddenly with blurring speed he pulled the gun from his waist and pointed it at him; at the same time, he turned sideways and whipped his left arm back, pointing Ace's gun behind him without looking. Bennie charged around the corner and stopped cold at the sight of a pistol pointed right at his face. "Cool it, Elvis," Lynch said, still looking at Ace. "Drop your piece."

Benny, eyes wide, took a small sideways step; the pistol in Lynch's hand tracked him as if it had eyes of its own. He safed his pistol and dropped it on the ground.

"Good," Lynch said. "Now who's got the keys?"

He exchanged a look with Bennie over Lynch's shoulder. "Keys?"

"You all came in the same car, right? Who's got the keys?" The man waited a moment, then dropped his point of aim on both weapons. "Last to answer gets one in the thigh."

Ace fished the car keys out of his pocket.

"Toss them to your buddy, so he can bring the car here." He gestured with his head towards Chuck. "Unless you want to carry him. He's a pretty big boy."

He tossed the keys in an easy underhand to Bennie.

"One thing, Elvis," Lynch said. "If there's any more hardware in the car, I strongly advise you to lock it in the trunk. I let you guys live because you don't seem all that dangerous. Don't make me change my mind." As soon as Bennie left, he stuck both weapons in his belt again.

Ace looked at his brother. "Sure he's not dead?" There wasn't any blood under him, but there were a lot of ways to kill somebody without spilling blood. _How'd he get the drop on him in a narrow alley like this?_

"Yes. It wasn't necessary, and I don't like killing people who buy me lunch."

Ace walked over to Chuck. When he got close, he bent down as if he wanted to look him over, then dived behind the big lug's body and hiked up his pants cuff.

"Don't." The fucker was so close he could hear the _snick_ of the safety. He looked up and Lynch was standing right over him, with Chuck's gun pointed at his eye. He started to hand over the little thirty-two.

"Not just yet. Stand up and stick it in your pants."

With his heart hammering, he stood up and cautiously slid the gun into his waistband. Lynch took three steps backwards and did the same. "You really want to play games, buddy? Let's play 'High Noon'." Lynch folded his arms. "Let's make it sporting."

Ace snatched for his weapon. It had barely cleared his belt when he froze, because Lynch already had his piece out and pointed at him. The man motioned Ace to put away his piece and stuck his gun in his pants again.

Lynch turned his back on him and folded his arms.

He reached for the thirty-two; he didn't even have it out of his belt this time before Chuck's gun was pointed at his face.

"Are you getting the point, cowboy? You're _not_ going to get the drop on me." Lynch glanced towards Chuck. "He's your ticket out of here – if you carry him, and don't make too much trouble. If you've got any more smart ideas, keep them to yourself." Lynch gestured with the pistol. "Now toss it my way." He picked it up off the concrete and stuck it into the small of his back. "You guys get any cleverer, I'm going to have to let my belt out a notch."

They both heard the sound of a car approaching from the parking lot. Lynch kept his eyes on him and walked backwards to the metal container forming one wall of the alley. When he reached it, he spun to face it, jumped, and caught the top, ten feet up. The fucker pulled himself up and over so fast he might as well have jumped to the roof, like the Six Million Dollar Man. He took all three guns out of his belt and laid two of them on the roof.

Bennie spun around the corner with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. His face filled with surprise when he saw that Ace was the only vertical target. Then he saw the look on Ace's face. "Oh, fuck." Without even looking around, he dropped the gun and put his hands in the air.

"Go stand over by your buddies, Elvis. Did you leave the keys in the car?" When Bennie nodded, he said, "Good." Lynch squatted and looked down at them. "So, how did you find out? Never mind, it doesn't matter." He glanced back at the ship. "You did your best. It just wasn't good enough. It's done."

A cold suspicion formed in Ace's mind. Lynch wasn't talking about poking his wife. "How come you didn't come out with the others?"

Lynch glanced at the ship again. "No one else is coming off that boat. Your boys shouldn't have insisted I leave my weapon. Having to be the only one unarmed was a little suspicious, don't you think?" He glanced toward the dock. "They should have checked my briefcase better. I didn't need much explosive, after all, with all the ammo aboard. Did you know dust from, say, wheat, is _highly _explosive if you mix it with the air and set it off right? Especially in an enclosed space like a ship's hold. When it goes, the whole dock will disappear. These containers will be smashed like shoeboxes. You don't want to hang around." He gestured towards Chuck. "Better pack him up and get out of here."

They lifted Chuck and each got a shoulder under an arm. Chuck groaned and blinked, unseeing. He had a beautiful mark on the side of his head; he wouldn't be able to see out of his left eye tomorrow, Ace thought.

Out in the aisle, the car fired up. They heard gravel pepper the steel containers as it whipped around, headed for the lot.

"Fuck!" Bennie loosed his grip on Chuck's arm. _To chase Lynch? Or just rabbit out of there?_

"Don't." Ace glared at him. "He's gone. Let's get out of here. _All _of us."

Together, they lifted and dragged Chuck to the end of the alley. Ace looked down the road to the parking lot just in time to see Lynch drive off in his own car. _I wonder if he left the keys in ours, or if the fucker's having a little joke._

"Whuh?" Chuck stared at him blurrily. _Concussion._ "Whudja doin?"

"We're savin your life, dickweed. How'd you let him get the jump on you like that?" _Even Lynch must like you; the prick let us live so we could get you out of here. At least you won't be giving any more thought to cutting us loose, Chucky. It's not much to take away from this disaster, but it's something._

April 22 2006

"The explosion made the news from coast to coast," Ace told her. "The whole damn channel was wrecked. It looked like a nuke went off. The boat disappeared; an eight-hundred-foot ship scattered all over thirty blocks. Two hundred million worth of guns, gone, and half a billion in damage. And by next day, every gun runner we'd contacted just fuckin disappeared." He blinked. "Including the one who'd made the introduction. They weren't arrested, and they didn't go into the Witness Protection Program; we have people on the inside. Not all the way in, but if the Program needed thirty people to disappear in a hurry, we'd know it. No bodies turned up. They just dropped off the face of the earth. Like, one of em's at a club, and he gets up to go to the can, and never comes back. Another one misses a morning appointment, so they send somebody to his house and his breakfast is on the table, half a cup of coffee and a pastry with a bite out of it, but he's gone. Another one took a drive upstate; they never even found the car. One of the guys we dealt with was a real international player; his East Coast business was just a branch office. He vanished out of a hilltop fortress in Czechoslovakia, along with half a dozen bodyguards used to be Russki commandos."

"_Spetsnaz_."

"Right." He twisted his head. "The business never really came back after that. And the Organization got a black eye from it. People started going elsewhere to put together their deals. And even though the three of us didn't really have anything to do with it, somehow the stink stuck to us. We spent the next twenty years doin scut work and tryin to live it down, that we had him in our sights and didn't get him."

She didn't gloat or sneer. She just watched him, an attentive audience. "And what about Luisa? And the baby?"

He grimaced. "The mood I was in, I probly would've gone straight to her sister's house and killed her, and got killed myself; Billy wasn't in any mood to be crossed then. But we didn't _quite _get clear of the explosion. By the time I got out of the hospital, she was moved in with her brother and she'd missed her period. That last put her completely out of reach. If she'd been struck by _lightning_, I would've got beat to death with a ball bat." The story was over; she had it all. Just to gain time, and show her he wasn't a total dupe, he said, "It was a setup, wasn't it? It was too much of a coincidence. I should have been suspicious, but I wanted it too bad."

"If it was, it wasn't ours, Ace. Like I said, Jack doesn't remember you." She ran a clean piece of Bennie's shirt under the tap, washed her face, wrung it out, and brought it to the chair. She washed his face, and then opened his shirt to clean off the puke coating his chest. "He told me about that assignment, though. His boss gave it to him because Jack was so stressed out from his regular duties, he thought he'd give him a little vacation, with some light work to keep him feeling useful. For you, it was a disaster that shaped the rest of your life. For him, it was a trip to the beach." She looked down at his soiled clothes. "You want those off? Go out of the world like you came in?"

"No, I'll die in em, thanks." It was amazing, how easy that came out. "Why do you do this?"

"Don't know, really. Some glitch in my subroutines, I suppose, brought on by stress." She laid a hand on top of his head and rubbed it. "Don't worry, baby," she said, her eyes blank. "I'll take good care of you." She looked over his shoulder, at the carnage behind him. "That worries me a lot more than what I did with the boy. I told you a story about how I met Jack. It was almost the truth, and an utter lie. When I met him, I had orders to kill him. My attempt on his life lasted less than two seconds before I was facedown in the dirt. He didn't even draw his pistol." She smiled at him. "A _very_ dangerous man. He almost killed me without half trying, because I rushed him. I _would_ have died, if he'd left me there. Instead, he took me to his home and… made a pet of me. After a month with him, I couldn't imagine wanting to do anything else. He gave me a job to do, let me earn his trust. And now, I may have thrown all that away in a fit of anger." She was still staring at the mess on the walls and floor and ceiling. "The situation we're in now, we have to be able to trust each other with our backs turned, all the time. If he decides I've become… unpredictable…" She shivered. "He loves me. He'll make it quick and painless."

"You'd let him do that?"

"_Let_ him?" She shook her head slowly. "You still don't understand. His first wife tried to run away, and took their infant son with her. She ended up in a dumpster, and her child calls me Mom. He's pitted himself against an organization that topples governments, and he's made them wary of him. He's as unstoppable as an avalanche. He doesn't hold grudges, usually, but like I said, he's got a different attitude about his women. The cruelest thing I can imagine doing to you is keeping you alive until he gets here."

He was slammed backwards by the force of the blow; the chair tipped over on its back and slid. Suddenly, he was looking up at the gore-spattered ceiling. And he couldn't breathe. She stood over him. "Was that quick and sudden enough? Your windpipe is collapsed, Ace. You're going to find out _exactly _how long it takes to die with something stuffed down your throat." She bent down. "Thrash all you want. It might bring the end a little sooner. The very first one, in the tool shed. Did_ she_ squirm? I'll bet she did, and you enjoyed every second of it. What did she do to become your first, this young girl experimenting with sex? A girl who might like to play 'I'll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours'?"

She got on her knees and bent low; her face was inches above his. "I think I know. I've seen you, and felt you inside me. Did she make a thoughtless remark? Maybe even laugh? Charles didn't believe you when you said you were trying to gag her, but I think it was half true. At that moment, you didn't care if you killed her, just so long as she shut… the fuck… _up_."

He was moving as much as the bindings allowed. He threw his head around, trying to find a position that would open his airway. His ribs heaved, expanding and squeezing with all their strength, trying to push some air through his throat. Nothing worked. He gripped the chair until his knuckles cracked. He opened and closed his mouth and worked his tongue. All in all, some distant part of him supposed, he must be putting on a very satisfying show for her.

"You know, you raised a good question. The pizza boy does seem an awful coincidence. So does the invitation from the cousin who probably doesn't even know you were at his reception. Convenient, too, maybe. It occurs to me that maybe Billy knows more than he let on – about us, and you, too. Having it become known that he's got three men on his payroll who kidnap and murder young girls for fun would be the final blow to the Family's reputation. If he was to find out where Jack was, and he arranged to send you against us in some way that let him deny any involvement…If you succeeded, he'd have his revenge for the black eye Jack gave his father. And if you failed, he'd be rid of a serious liability, without any whispers of disloyalty to his subordinates. I think you got played, beginning to end. I'm guessing Jack will want to pay another visit to Luis's neighborhood. And this time, it'll be personal."

He felt himself growing heavy and weak; his vision darkened. _You win this round, bitch. Unanimous decision. Enjoy it while you can. Because I bet your wonderful Jack takes one look at this place and puts you down like a rabid dog._

40


	5. Doomed Relationships

Lynch eased his car to a stop on the street behind the house where they were holding her. Twenty-four hours before, he'd cruised the area, reconnoitering and rehearsing the moves he planned as soon as the deadline passed, trying to duplicate conditions. Nearly half the houses in the neighborhood had been dark and seemingly unoccupied, offering him a wealth of insertion points. He parked and pulled out the small backpack he'd brought, then the larger equipment bag. He'd packed heavy when he'd left home, not knowing what he'd need. As soon as he'd made contact with her and seen the house, he'd decided to leave the AR-15 and the taser pistol in the trunk; the action he contemplated tonight didn't involve distance shooting, or mercy.

Crossing two deserted properties, he arrived at the back of the garage on the targets' lot. He dropped the duffel over the fence and eased over. At ground level, he brought his eye around the corner of the garage for a look at the house. A few dim lights showed towards the front of the building; casting a meager illumination on the driveway and the rental car parked next to the house.

The garage had a side door. He twisted the knob and slid inside with his bag, to prepare his final approach.

A row of small dirty windows across the garage door let in a faint wash of illumination from the house lights. An auto was parked inside, a small hatchback wagon. Looking through the window, he saw the back seat piled with luggage. Behind that, in the cargo compartment, were several large shapes, covered with a blanket that made them look suspicious as hell.

He looked through the garage door windows. There was no sign of activity at the back of the house. He decided to risk the dome light coming on, and reached for the hatchback handle. The dome light didn't come on. He pulled back the blanket to reveal several ten-gallon fuel cans. He popped the cap on one and sniffed: they were filled with diesel fuel, rather than gasoline. Not the best accelerant for a fire, but easy to get and safer than gas. He covered them again.

He looked through the side window at the items on the back seat: two large toolboxes and two large leather gym bags. He felt a reluctance to open the door that had nothing to do with activating the car's interior lights. Finally, he grasped the door handle and pulled up. The little twelve-volt light washed the inside of the car with a yellowish glow.

Each of the two-foot boxes was secured by a massive padlock through the hasp on the box and lid. He was glad the lock was so large; it made for a better grip and increased his leverage. He twisted the padlock on the closest toolbox, and the tabs on the box and lid snapped off. _What some people perceive as security. If I'd had the key, it would have slowed me down._ He lifted the lid. A faint mix of familiar odors wafted up to his nose, dissipating quickly. The contents looked commonplace enough: a reciprocating saw with a couple of long blades; a cordless drill with a selection of large bits; a soldering iron; some homemade electrical gadget made with an old extension cord, alligator clips and a switch; several pairs of pliers, mostly the locking type; a bundle of large cable ties; a medium-sized pair of bolt cutters; a couple of small saws, including a pointed one with a screwdriver-style handle for drywall. All reasonably clean and innocent-looking, but he wasn't fooled for a second, because he'd recognized the smells of old blood and burned flesh the instant he'd opened the box. He decided he didn't want to look at the other one.

He pulled one of the gym bags towards him and unzipped it; what he found in there shocked him more than the grisly tool kit. The bag was stuffed with women's panties. He looked through them, feeling ill. It was like an archaeological dig: the deeper he dug into the bag, the more dated the styles became. _If these are trophies… they've been doing this for years and years._ He set it aside and reached for the other.

Pictures. Faded old Polaroids and newer digitals, photos you didn't take in to a developer. A bundle of discs in clear cases held hundreds more images, no doubt. He swallowed his gorge as he shuffled through them, studying the monsters at play, and the forms and faces of their victims. He threw the pictures back in the bag, trembling with fear and rage; too many of those photos had featured young women dressed and bound like the pictures of Anna he'd found in her car.

He felt a familiar calm settle over him as he unzipped his bag: the mind-clearing detachment he needed to pursue his objective with efficiency, whether it was skiing a steep slope or killing a squad of armed men. He removed an AA-12, essentially a machine gun with a thirteen-inch barrel that fired 12-gauge shotgun slugs. He clipped a 20-round drum to the weapon and slung it. Next, he hung four concussion grenades from his belt. He checked his .40 caliber Smith and Wesson and replaced it in the shoulder holster, making sure that the straps of the backpack didn't foul his draw.

He was carrying enough firepower to take the house off its foundation, but he wasn't done. In fact, he was just getting started. _Time to strap on the big guns._ He closed his eyes and felt around in the back of his mind, imagining a heavy closed door. Beyond, he knew, lay the Malevolent Mojo Maelstrom.

_Sounds like a psychedelic band from the Sixties. But, hell, going there feels like a bad acid trip. And too many of us have a case of permanent flashbacks._

He opened the door, and it disappeared. The Maelstrom stretched away into unguessable distance, a galaxy-sized whirlpool. The confusion of impossible sensations was almost overwhelming: he saw sounds, tasted colors, felt bizarre odors. He experienced other things beyond description. Dark strange thoughts whispered through his mind. The disorienting experience changed constantly, items appearing and disappearing like a jumble of flotsam in a flood. And yet this was only the very edge, the shallows, the kiddy pool. It seemed to turn faster as he looked farther into it, blurring beyond all perception long before he could glimpse its dark center, light-years away.

He entered it carefully. Immediately, he felt its pull, a frighteningly steep gradient that would snatch him in a grip of steel and bear him away into insanity if he took a single step too many. He advanced as far as he dared, and gathered… _something_, tapped into it somehow, and backed out again, taking it with him. The pulling sensation stayed with him, as if the power he'd gathered was a package connected to the whirlpool by an elastic cord. The sensation didn't lessen as the door reappeared. He went through and closed it, and the force of its attraction was lessened but still there, a conduit between the Maelstrom and the universe fit for living things.

He perceived the garage around him again, but changed. He blinked and wiped the mist from his forehead, waiting for his mind to adjust to the weird additional input. _I should be glad it never seems to get any easier. Dane slid in and out of the Mojo Universe as easy as jumping in and out of a Jacuzzi… until he went in and never came back out. Now, he's in a padded cell, wearing a collar and eating soft food without utensils… when he doesn't smear it on the walls._

His perception of the universe around him was altered, in ways subtle and not so subtle. Colors seemed paler than darkness could account for; sounds seemed magnified, and had an odd tactile component to them. He sensed sudden motions just before they actually occurred, something like a double-exposed movie film. And the uncanny images of living things that he called 'icons' dotted his personal landscape.

A tiny red spark of light scurried along the floor near the wall of the garage: experience told him he was looking at a mouse, and with that thought, he did see a little rodent, as if the red spark were an image deep inside the real one. A larger ball of dim red light moving along an adjacent wall must be a cat; when the real-universe image wasn't forthcoming, he realized he was seeing it through the wall of the garage. Without moving, he cast this eldritch vision all around, and saw no icons for anything larger than a rabbit within fifty yards… except for the interior of the house where she was being held.

Human beings appeared in his enhanced vision as beachball-sized masses of tangled dark tendrils, waving as if floating in a gentle current. The interior of such an icon was dimly lit with a reddish light, sometimes faint, other times almost bright: a smoldering fire nearly choked by its smoke. Icons seemed to turn without actually rotating, presenting slightly different aspects over time; he called the attribute 'spin'. He examined the interior of the house with this inner vision, looking for targets; what he saw surprised him and filled him with wonder.

He'd been looking for four of these meatball icons, and wondering if Anna would be detectable, since she wasn't organic life. But only two sentient-sized icons appeared inside the house, widely separated. The farthest showed the expected 'dirty meatball'; its tendrils were pulled in close, which he'd learned indicated withdrawal as a result of fear or concentration. The second was unlike anything he'd seen before, and he was certain it was her. Her icon appeared in his eldritch vision as a tall clear crystalline structure, a complex abstract sculpture made of ice, lit with a cool blue-white light; it twinkled like a diamond as it exhibited its own 'spin'. _God. Even like this, she's beautiful._

Neither icon was moving. He had no idea where the other three had gone without a car, but he wasn't going to wait for them to come back. _Luckiest day of your lives, assholes. Stay gone, and if she's all right, I may not come looking for you later. _

He looked at the icon at the back of the house again. _I could kill him from here, right through the wall. It would be easy. _He'd done it often enough in the last twenty years. Just imagine his mojo shaped into a weapon – a hammer, a blade, or just a fist – and give the icon a solid blow. Or reach for it, seize a bunch of those tendrils and give them a good yank. Then walk into the house to find his target dead or dying. He almost decided to do it, but the those tight-wrapped tendrils gave him pause. He decided he might risk letting the other one in the house live, too, if he didn't offer any trouble. But he was going in there after his girl, and whatever got in his way would die.

With the single captor holed up in the back of the house and her not far from the front, the front door seemed a reasonable point of entry. He crept to the front of the house, keeping below the windows, until he reached the entrance. He took one last look at the positions of the icons in the house: unchanged. He gently let go of the mojo and felt the dark energy of its presence fade as he fully rejoined the world of men.

As soon as he turned the knob and cracked the door, his assessment of the situation changed drastically. His nose picked up battlefield smells: iron and copper from spilled blood, the outhouse stink of spilled intestines. _Guess no one left the house after all. She didn't wait for me._

All the light came from a floor lamp near the shabby couch next to the door. He nearly stepped on a body beside the door, laid out as if in a coffin. Then he noticed the carnage in the kitchen: a door torn off its hinges; the broken furniture; the kitchen table lying on its side, the top facing him. And the gore painting the walls and floor and ceiling. Then he heard the bumping sound.

_Badadabump._ Silence. _Badabump._

"Anna," he called softly.

_Badabump._

"You're early." Anna's voice, the deeper one she only used when they were alone. Usually it made her sound sexy; this time it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His wife sounded… _distracted_, preoccupied, as if her mind was somewhere else. It was frightening, from a woman who could appear to be giving him her undivided attention while driving a car at a hundred miles an hour. She was nowhere in sight. Her voice and the bumping noise both seemed to be coming from behind the overturned table.

His hand stole towards his shoulder holster. He didn't draw, scarcely realized his hand had moved; it was just an automatic response to something unknown and threatening. He was sure that whatever trouble he found on the other side of the table wasn't going to be fixed with a bullet. _My darling. What have they done to you?_ He kept his voice as neutral as hers. "I'm right on time."

He moved forward cautiously. He'd seen messes similar to the one in the kitchen, but they'd all been the result of high explosives, blasts that pureed human bodies and turned blood into a mist so fine that it hung in the air for hours, leaving an oily coating on your skin if you lingered at the scene. He picked his way carefully through the broken glass and blood, trying to get a look behind the table without drawing too close.

"I had until noon tomorrow, thirty-six hours."

"I gave you thirty-six hours to complete your mission, which started as soon as you let them pick you up. Thirty-six hours later is midnight Saturday. Now."

_Budadabump._

"You're a clever and devious man. Did you bring the scrambler?" As if she were asking if he'd brought a coat.

"No." A few more cautious steps, and he'd be able to see behind the table. Already, he could see the legs of a chair lying on its back, with a pair of trousered legs duct taped to two of them.

"Maybe you should run home and get it. I'll wait here."

"I don't think so." He took one more step, and saw her. His slow progress had given him time to get used to his surroundings, and make some guesses at what he'd find behind the table. So he was prepared for the grisly scene. But the sight of her still caught his breath.

She sat cross-legged on the floor between the table and chair, wearing a coating of gore and nothing else. Her left hand lay in her lap, and her right gripped a disembodied head by a short ponytail. She stared down at it with an autistic's concentration. As he watched, she swept it across the floor in a short arc, as if it were a piece of string she was using to invite a cat to play. It rolled as it swung across its bloody path in front of her.

_Budadabump._

He took a step towards her.

"Don't!" She barked out. Then quiet again, she said, "Don't get too close. I'm still a little… moody."

A thumb-sized bit of meat chose that moment to detach itself from the ceiling, falling to the floor between them with a soft _phut_.

_Moody. I'm never going to hear another PMS joke without shuddering. _"You're trembling."

"Yes, and you know what that means. Warring impulses. God, I want to touch you." The words were delivered in a toneless voice, as if she were exhausted, or speaking from the grave. "But the other impulse is all Alpha, and I don't trust it one little bit." She shivered. "The bitch won't let go, Jack. Hatred's her trigger. Brutality and cruelty were the reason for her existence, the justification for her actions. I've been immersed in all that since yesterday noon. The whole time I was chained down, she was in bed with me, whispering in my ear like a lover. Keeping her in check while they took turns grunting and slobbering over me, gloating and taunting and watching me for signs of pain or despair… it's the hardest thing I've ever done."

She made a small gesture with her other hand, and he saw the manacle and the fine links of chain dangling from it. "I tried to play them. It was hopeless. It was obvious they wanted to cow me, so I thought by acting cool and defiant, I could push one of them into boasting, to show me how clever they were." She shook her head; her hair was crusty with gore. "I didn't understand them at _all_. They couldn't have cared less about winning my respect. That wasn't how they wanted to force my submission. They wanted me to lose all respect for _myself_.

"But _she_ understood them perfectly. Every time I needed to steer a course through the… rat maze of these men's minds, she was grabbing at the wheel. I was afraid to let her drive, but unless I took her directions I didn't get anywhere; just kept running into blank walls, or taking wrong turns that led me farther from my goal and escalated the violence… making it harder to keep _her_ in check. Finally, the hatred crossed some threshold, and my control slipped.

"She knew exactly what to do. She had me fight them, so hard they weren't sure they could break me… and then surrender. They enjoyed a challenge, but only _after_ they won. That gave them a feeling of triumph big enough for indiscretion. But I gave up way too much of myself to her, in order to accomplish it. Times, I'm not sure which of us was in the driver's seat.

"So keep your distance for a while. Let's just talk, okay? We have a lot to talk about. Let me try to… get things under control."

"Anna." He took a step towards her. "The Alpha file is a set of instructions, responses, and subroutines, coupled with some memories of a part of your life you don't like to remember. There isn't another person inside your head. If the file won't compress, something must be triggering it, or some part of you still feels a need for it. It's not that she won't let go of you, you won't let go of her."

She blinked. "You may be right. All the more reason to talk from a distance." She lifted the head by the hair on top, righting it, and showed him the mashed face while she stared at the back of it. "Recognize him?"

"No." He glanced at the headless body in the chair. Judging by the large still pool of blood underneath, she must have detached it after the heart had stopped pumping. _So where did all the rest of this goo come from? _"His, I presume?"

"Yes. This is Ace Dibagio. His oldest brother Charles is by the door. His other brother Bennie is all over the kitchen. Bennie was the inventive one, the sportsman they gave the job of breaking the victim to their will. I… was feeling particularly uncharitable towards him." She tossed the head towards the body in the chair.

He thought about the remaining icon, the still figure in the other end of the house. "And the boy?"

"I sent him away before things got rough. I was afraid for him." She hadn't met his eyes since he'd entered the room. "Jack, on that last trip to the East Coast, when you almost got shot. Do you remember a little deli you used to go to, and a girl you met there?"

He started to say no, but then it came to him. "Oh. God."

"Ah. You do remember."

"I'm not sure I even got her name. I knew her a total of thirty minutes beforehand. We did it in the deli's storeroom, standing up with most of our clothes on. Couldn't have taken ten minutes." He added, "My wife had left me two weeks before, just disappeared with Bobby. My emotions were totally out of control any time I wasn't focused on the job. It was my first time with another woman since I'd been married. It was also the most… abandoned yet passionless act of sex I've ever performed. I was cursing myself as soon as it was over."

She stared at his shoes. "You probably shouldn't tell Luis. You might want to make something up."

"Luis?"

"The boy. He's yours. The girl in the deli was Ace's wife."

A dozen puzzle pieces suddenly fell into place. "I thought the deal had gone sour; that my cover'd been blown, or they were going to double-cross me. And it was over a woman the whole time?"

"Yes." She finally raised her head to meet his eyes. "He's wonderful, like Bobby. Like you. They made him do things. He didn't want to. It wasn't rape, Jack. I begged him to do it, because I thought they'd kill him. But the last time…" She dropped her eyes and shuddered. "Oh, it was _so _not rape."

He swallowed. "Darling, what are you telling me? Do you want to leave me for another man?"

"I'm confessing to my husband that I've… committed an indiscretion. I'm hoping for forgiveness. But… Bennie was a collector. He took trophies of all their victims, panties mostly. And pictures." She turned her head slightly, avoiding his eyes again. "Behind me on that counter are thirty-three pictures. You know I didn't have to pose for any of them. Two in particular. I think, before you decide what you want to do, you should look at them."

He unslung the AA-12; she watched him, unmoving, waiting. Without letting the weapon touch the floor, he shrugged out of the backpack and took it in his other hand. "This is for you. It's light." He tossed it to her in an easy underhanded throw. "Look them over, but don't touch them until you've taken a shower." He stepped around the table towards the counter. His feet stuck to the floor at every step.

He heard the zipper of the pack open. "These aren't…"

"No. The originals are gone with the beach house. I bought those before I came. They're the smallest size I could squeeze into, but I wore them for an hour."

"They used to be yours. And now they're mine?"

"Yes." He was at the blood-spattered counter. Arrayed on it were the elements of a small digital photo shop: a camera, printer, and a single memory card hardly bigger than his thumbnail. He picked up the tiny card and stared at it. "Thirty-three pictures. Are you in all of them?"

"God, yes."

"Any family photos?"

"A couple, at least. Jack-"

"Anything on here I might need for future reference? Anything regarding family security?"

"No. just pictures of me, and-"

He snapped the card in half against the edge of the counter. "Then if there's anything in them I need to know, you can tell me. After." With the butt of the shotgun, he smashed the camera and its internal memory to pieces.

"After?"

"After the important stuff's out of the way." He gave the same treatment to the printer, which also had a buffer memory. He set the gun on the counter and turned to her. She'd turned around to watch him, clutching the backpack to her bloody chest, a little kid with a book bag on the first day at a new school. He saw the chain on her wrist again, and throttled down the urge to boot Ace's head like a football. The floor between them was relatively clean. He knelt in front of her, sitting on his heels, bringing them nearly eye to eye, half an arm's length apart.

He placed a finger under her chin, making her look him in the eye. "After you're cleaned up and in new clothes, and I take you home to your kids for a few Anna-we-were-so-worrieds and thank-God- you're-okays. I'll let them have ten minutes or so with you, and then I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the bedroom, undress you, and put you in a hot tub."

"I'm not leaving here till I'm clean." The color was coming back into her voice, and his heart leaped.

"Irrelevant. After I've washed every inch of you with my own hands and dried you off, I'm going to dress you up in something soft and warm and take you to bed." He leaned closer and lowered his voice further. "Once you're in my arms, you can tell me anything you think I need to know." He put his hands around her sticky waist. "Right now, I think it's time I gave my wife a proper hello."

"God. _Look _at me."

"I have been." He looked into her widening eyes. "You're starting to smell like a butcher shop. God knows what's in your hair. Caitlin would fall to her knees and retch at the sight of you. And you're still as beautiful as a snowflake."

III

Luis sat cross-legged in the darkness, letting his thoughts race without getting anywhere, a hamster on a wheel. Aside from a few thumps, the house had been quiet. He was sure if someone had screamed, he'd have heard it, even from the isolation of this empty closet in the farthest bedroom in the house. _Maybe she didn't hurt them after all. Maybe she's just scaring them. Maybe she's not really going to kill them, either._

_Maybe I'm really the Pope. Get real. The best that can be hoped is that she killed them quick._

_Am I next? Am I just sitting here waiting my turn, a sheep in the holding pen in front of the slaughterhouse? _He still had the gun, but it was no reassurance. He didn't know why he'd bothered to bring it into the closet.

"Luis." Not her voice: a man's, soft and low and reassuring, somewhere in this bedroom or the next. "Where are you, son? We've got to get out of here. Anna sent me. Help me find you. Tap on something."

_I'll send someone for you. Someone kind._

_Can I trust her?_ His grip on the pistol was slippery.

_She could kill me any time. She doesn't need my trust. _He gave two furtive taps on the closet wall and pointed the weapon at the door. The man stopped calling. The next time Luis heard his voice, it came from the other side of the door.

"Luis. I'm going to open this door very slowly, so you can get a good look at me. Try not to shoot me, okay?" The door creaked open, but Luis didn't get a good look at him; the ceiling fixture in the bedroom was blinding after hours in the dark closet, and it silhouetted the man in the doorway, hiding details. But his hands were empty and held away from his body.

Luis didn't relax, but he pointed the pistol at the floor anyway. "Where is she?"

"In the shower, getting their filth off her."

"They're dead?"

"Don't grieve them. The world would be a better place if they'd been stillborn." The man's words were a strange echo of Uncle Chuck's.

His eyes were adjusting to the light, and some details began to appear. The man was dressed all in black, and wore a gun in a holster under his left arm. His face…

He almost dropped the gun.

"She didn't mention the scars." The man shook his head. "She never does. I know she still sees them. She sees everything."

"You're Jack." _Her husband. The man everyone's scared of. And I screwed his wife. Or whatever she is._

Jack didn't move from the doorway. "She told me about you. What you did for her. Thank you."

"Did for her?" His throat closed up and he couldn't speak.

The man nodded slowly. "The two of you were in a very bad place. You gave her comfort I couldn't, that she was desperate for . You helped her hold on to her sanity." His voice softened further. "I owe you a debt I don't know if I can repay. But I'll try, if you'll let me." He extended a hand, palm up.

Luis placed the gun in the man's palm. Only then did he realize he hadn't taken the safety off.

"Thanks, but I was offering you a hand up. You can come with us, if you want. I think you should, for a while at least, until the fallout settles."

"Where?"

"To our home. We'll put you up, and you can meet our kids. Get some idea of what she did this for. You know she didn't have to go through this, don't you? Those men's lives were hers to take anytime from the moment she met them. The bonds that kept her here weren't made of steel. They were made of love." His voice took an odd note, filled with emotion. "She endured this to learn a secret, one that might have ruined our lives or risked them outright. Later, she had another reason, another bond that limited her choices even more." He squatted, bringing him closer to eye level. "You're scared and confused. I understand. But understand this. Whatever else she is, she's someone who'll do anything for love. And sometime in the last day and a half, she fell in love with you. And even if I didn't have my own reasons for doing right by you, I could never harm anything she loves." He stood and extended his hand again. "I just heard the shower turn off. She'll be wanting to see you."

III

The bedroom was bare and dark. Its only furniture was a mattress on the floor, and the only light was the illumination of a streetlamp through the small window. He flipped the switch near the door, but nothing happened. He went in anyway, heart pounding.

At first glance, he mistook her for a bundle of rags piled in the corner. Then his perception changed, and he recognized her, dressed in baggy workout clothes, sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands clasped over her bare shins. The cuffs were gone. Chuck's pinky ring glinted red on her thumb. She looked as dangerous as a kitten. "Hi," she said, looking up at him.

He came to within a step of her. "Hi, yourself. Did he bring you those?"

"Don't look like much, I know. But they've got sentimental value. He brought them because he knew they'd make me feel safe and cared for."

"Are you okay?"

"Will be soon." Her mouth worked. "Well, do you still… think I should have butterfly wings on my back?"

He pretended to consider. "Stainless steel ones. With razor edges. But yes. Anne, what are you really? Just tell me. Please."

She took a deep breath. "I've been dreading this. More than your uncles' little visits. Luis, you ever read comic books?"

"Not for years."

"But you have? You know, like Spiderman, the X-Men, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah."

"Then you've heard my story. I started life in a lab." The corner of her mouth twitched without humor. "A secret government lab, how cliché. The things I told you about my childhood are true, but I was never a child; I was brought into the world looking pretty much like I do now."

_Grown in a vat, maybe? A genetic experiment, her and four others, clones._

"They made me fast and strong, I'm sure you noticed. They gave me other talents. They wanted a weapon that could pass as a human being. They created a person instead, and it scared them so much, they locked me away instead of using me. Jack rescued me. We've been together ever since."

"He wants me to come with you."

She nodded. "I knew he would. He's an honorable man."

"My family. They'll be worried if they don't hear from me. They'll be scared to death when someone finds my uncles."

"You don't want to go back, not until you're cleared of any involvement. In their deaths, or what they've been doing. If you think it's best, we'll get word to your mom and dad."

He thought about it. The police were the least of his problems if the Family thought he was bent in some way. He nodded. "Okay."

April 28 2006  
Escondido

The sound of music in the great room below brought Eddie out of his seat in the loft and drew him to the rail. "Dude. Get a load of this."

Bobby left the TV and joined him. Below them, his father and stepmother were on the dance floor, shaking it. "I didn't know they could dance. Not like that, anyway. What is that, a rumba?"

"Mamba." Eddie leaned over the rail, watching. "The way she shakes her butt is the same, but a mamba's faster. Man, oh, man. _Dancing with the Stars_ meets _Terminator_, with a little James Bond thrown in."

"Bro, that's my mom down there. Don't get the floor wet."

Rox stepped out of her room; drawn, no doubt, to the sound of dance music like a moth to the flame. She saw Eddie and came up quietly behind, as he said, "Can't help myself. Dude, I am caught in the grip of a _serious_ fantasy."

Bobby shot him a wide-eyed glance, trying to warn him. The big lug seemed oblivious. With his girlfriend only a step behind him, he said, "That tight little dress, with the skirt that turns up and shows every inch of her legs when she twirls. Un-frickin-believable."

Storm clouds gathered on the girl's face. Bobby didn't _think _she'd push Eddie over the rail; and if she did, she'd _probably_ break his fall.

Eddie shot him an amused glance. "Just thinking about Rox in it takes my breath away, not that I'd ever tell her. I have _got _to get her to borrow it, next time we hit the club. She would look _so_ hot. It'd be just a little tight in _all_ the right places. Every guy in the place will wish he was me."

Bobby watched her melt. With a warning look to him, she slipped quietly back into her room and shut the door. He shook his head. "I can't believe she fell for that. I swear, her IQ drops sixty points when you're in the same room."

"Putty in the hands of the master."

Rox opened her door again, loudly enough to be heard. "What's up?"

"Dance fever. Anna's showing off her lessons. I didn't know you danced Latin, Rox."

She leaned over the rail with them. "I didn't teach her _any_ of those moves. I think your dad must have. He's good."

They watched in silence for a while. The performance was worthy of an audience, but the two of them were clearly dancing for each other; if they knew they were being watched, they gave no sign. His father held her and let her go, twirling away until only their fingers touched; then with a pull, he brought her spinning back, tight against him, one leg lifted. They separated, drew together, switched places, with their feet moving so fast it took an effort to follow them. Their movements were as coordinated as a pair of hands on a keyboard, with never a misstep. It looked hot as hell. She pushed up against her man, head back, her hips grinding in a figure eight, and he almost had to look away.

Finally, the song ended. Roxy applauded, and he and Eddie joined in. The couple looked up. Rox whistled. "What's the number to call my vote in?" Anna beamed, and his father's face twitched at one corner, his usual substitute for a smile. _But Anna's right: it's in the eyes. Even the dead one has its expressions._

"Anna, where'd you _learn_ that?"

The little blonde glanced at his father and smiled.

"Okay, but where'd _you_ learn it? South America someplace?"

"Cuba, a long time ago. Last time I was there, Castro was still running the country."

Eddie's eyebrows came together. "But Castro's still running the country."

His dad gave Eddie a look a teacher might give a kid who hadn't done his homework. "Oh, yeah. Right."

A new song started. It was very different from the earlier one: slower, with a heavy beat, and brass that almost sounded like an accordion. The dance was different, too. Their bodies never got more than a hand's with apart, even when she was turning inside his arms, and their hands were all over each other. He turned to Eddie. "What's this one called?"

Eddie shook his head. "No idea, maybe they're making it up."

Sarah appeared from down the hall. "What's going on?" She listened to the music. "My God."

"What?"

"The _lyrics_."

"You know Spanish, Sarah?"

"A little. Every kid on the rez does. I don't really speak it, but sometimes I can understand it if it's simple."

"What are they saying?"

"Don't expect much. There are too many double meanings. And it's not going to rhyme."

_Come night time, you rule me_

_You take my senses away_

_What's right and wrong is swept away_

_Anything is possible_

_In the night, you taste me_

_I melt inside of you_

_I am only whatever you want_

_I could die in your arms_

_Under the moon, you madden me_

_I must have all of you_

_Nothing we do together can be wrong_

_We feel each other's - _

"That's it." The girl's face colored, no small feat for an Apache. "I'm not trying to translate another word of it."

"Who'd a thunk it," Eddie said. "Sarah's a _prude_."

"Am not. But that song is _raunchy_."

"I don't know Spanish," Roxy said, "but I listen to the background singers, and it makes me think of walking past a construction site at lunch break. All that hooting and cawing."

The second song ended. Sarah called down, "Mr. Lynch. Do you speak Spanish?"

"Puedo pedir una cerveza," he said, as he bent Anna backwards until she was supported entirely on his forearm. They smiled into each other's eyes from half a foot apart. "O diga a muchacha que ella es _hermosa_."

Sarah said dryly, "Anybody need a translation?"

"Get a room!" Roxy called.

"An excellent suggestion," the Man said to his wife. He lifted her, draped her over his shoulder, and headed for the hallway that led to the downstairs bedroom.

"Mind the roast, somebody!" Anna called desperately, as they disappeared into the hall. "In twenty minutes. Check the temp. A hundred sixty degrees, it's done."

Everyone stared at Rox, who stared back. "Don't blame _me_."

"It was your suggestion," he said, smiling inside. "I think checking the roast should be _your_ job."

"I can do it." A new voice, male. Both girls turned towards the speaker, and Rox put on a smile she never used on Eddie.

Luis was wearing damp cutoff sweats and a towel around his neck; come straight from the workout room, apparently. Eddie said, "I thought you didn't work out."

"I didn't, till a couple days ago. Kat talked me into it. Feels good, actually. I'm all soft and stretched out, like taffy."

"You _look_ good all pumped up, too," Roxy said through lowered lashes. Bobby traded glances with Eddie.

Luis caught both looks. "Well. Twenty minutes, right? Just enough time for a shower, I think." He disappeared into Sarah's room.

He and Eddie exchanged another look. The newcomer made them both uneasy. There were too many mysteries surrounding him, for one thing. His father and Anna had come home from that awful adventure a week ago, with their lips zipped and Luis in tow. He was sure Luis had been a prisoner too; maybe one of those goons had had a taste for boys. Whatever his history, they'd brought this stranger to the Secret Hideout and made him feel at home.

And Dad and Anna weren't the only ones. The girls had taken to him in a way that went _way_ beyond what you'd expect from three chicks who had a strange guy under their roof to impress. Even Sarah warmed up when he came into a room.

"There's something about that guy that's just not right," Eddie said to no one in particular.

Rox was still looking at the bedroom door. "There isn't a _thing_ wrong with him." Her expression was weird. Not lusty, exactly, at least not the way she looked when she was toying with the idea of taking Eddie into her room. This was some other kind of fascination, almost like she was hypnotized by the guy.

Eddie's face clouded. "Come on, Rox. Got the X-box all warmed up. Let's play." He took her hand and pulled her into the TV area, away from Sarah's door.

A tiny smile quirked Sarah's face. "Eddie, jealous. There _is_ justice in the world."

"Can you blame him? You girls _fawn_ over the guy. 'You look good all pumped up.' Yeesh."

"He _is_ a gorgeous specimen, for a guy."

"And you. I can't _believe_ you offered to share your room with him."

"I emptied an armoire for his clothes. I go in there to change behind a locked door, and so does he." Sarah was amused; getting off on his discomfort, no doubt.

"He's sleeping in your bed."

"I don't come with the bed. That was never part of the offer. Come on, Bobby. Where was he going to sleep, on the couch? It's not as if I use it much right now." She joined hands with him. "I would have thought you'd be pleased. It practically guarantees where _I'll_ be spending my nights." She looked up at him. "Or did I presume on your hospitality?"

"Sarah, I'd spend my nights in a cardboard box under a bridge to be with you. You know it." He shrugged. "It's just… I've never even _sat_ on your bed."

This time she gave him a real smile, a rare one that showed teeth. "Sit on it any time you like. I won't be on it, though. Not yet." She put her lips close to his ear. "Our first time in that bed… is going to be a _special_ occasion." She drew as far away as she could without letting go of his hand, as if they were dancing.

Luis came out, still in his sweats, but with a shirt and swim trunks in his hand and sandals on his feet. "Think I'll hit the pool after I check on dinner." He ambled towards the bathrooms. Sarah's eyes followed him all the way to the bathroom door.

He squeezed her hand. "You're doing it again."

"Can't help it. Something about him makes me feel… protective. Proprietary. Like he's family." She smiled mischievously. "And maybe a _little _randy. He's the hot cousin you only see at family reunions. Maybe it's from watching Anna. I don't know what's going on between them, but she drops a lot of smiles on him. Secret ones." The smile widened. "And then there's Caitlin. Who'd have guessed?"

"What?"

"You haven't seen them in the workout room? Our mystery man and our redheaded naïf?"

"What, she's spotting him?"

"She's playing personal trainer. Sort of. You'd have to see it to believe it." She let go of his hand and faced him. Opening her eyes wide, she said in the breathy Marilyn Monroe voice she used when she was doing her Kat impression, "You've got a lot to work with, Luis. You just need the right exercises." She placed her hands on his chest. "A lot of bench presses for the pectorals." Her hands moved to his shoulders, sliding up to the back of his neck; her fingers twined briefly. "And some vertical presses for all the shoulder muscles." Down his traps to the back of his upper arms, bringing the two of them a foot apart with his hands on her hips. "Then some pulldowns for the triceps and back." She grinned.

"_No._"

"Yes. Now imagine the height difference-"

"Omigod. If you ever see them again, find me, wherever I am."

"And, you know, I don't think she even realizes. It's the weirdest thing."

"How does he take it?"

"How would any guy react? Including you. But he takes it in stride. He notices, but he doesn't notice… like you and Anna, sort of."

As if on cue, Kat came down the hall from the workout room. As modestly as she dressed in public, Kat seemed completely unself-conscious when she was pumping iron, and chose her clothes for coolness and freedom of movement. The shorts she wore barely covered her, and the elastic top hardly looked up to the job. The outfit was so brief, the shoes and fingerless gloves added substantially to her coverage. He imagined Kat standing over Luis while he was doing bench presses, waiting to take the bar. _That should be good for at least another rep._

She stopped in front of them, with a glance toward Sarah's door. "Guys, anybody seen Luis?"

"Headed for the shower," he said. "He volunteered to check on dinner after that. Then I'm pretty sure he's headed for the pool."

"Oh. Thanks." She turned and headed back down the long hall. They both watched until she disappeared into her room.

"You know," he said, "I've got a dollar says she's going for her suit."

"And I've got another dollar that says she'll pick her sunbathing suit, not one she swims in." At his puzzled look, she added, "Roxanne talked her into buying it. She doesn't wear it if there's the slightest chance you guys are going to be around the pool."

"_Well._ Kat, dangling bait? I'll have to see it to believe it."

"I know. If anyone had told me a week ago that she'd ever get like this over a guy, I'd have laughed in his face. And if she didn't have Eddie, Roxanne would be all _over_ him."

"What about you, Princess?"

She smiled crookedly. "You know my tastes. With one major exception. Still, there's something about him…" Her eyes widened. "_Allure._"

III

Semi-reclined on a lounge chair by the pool, Kat tried to look relaxed, watching Luis swim and marveling at her own daring. She was wearing five items: suit top and bottom, sunglasses, and matching chains at neck and left wrist. She didn't wear much jewelry, and never to the pool, but right now it made her feel a little more covered up. The suit was a string bikini, something plenty of girls would wear in public. Roxanne thought it was modest. Wearing it with a guy around felt like advertising. _And that's just what it is. What's gotten into me?_

She'd picked a chair next to the one he'd draped his towel across, with a small table between. She was watching him move through the water, hiding behind her sunglasses and trying not to stare at him as he climbed out to use the springboard. _He's beautiful. But there's something about the way he looks with his shirt off…_ some part of her brain was looking for something that wasn't there. She gave a mental shrug. _Maybe I just think he should be more muscular. Not like Eddie. No. Just a little more, like Bobby. He's responding to weight training so well, it wouldn't take long._

Eventually he climbed out and headed her way. He reached for the towel, uncovering a tee shirt with 'UNION' silk-screened across the front in collegiate letters. As he rubbed his head with the towel, she said, "Your school?"

"Yeah. First year. It's in New York." He wiped his chest and arms.

"I've heard of it. It has a great liberal arts program. Pretty good computer program, too."

"Different school." He looked away, rubbing busily.

"Is that where you live?"

He stopped. "I'm sorry, Kat. I don't know how much I can say."

She nodded. "Sokay. I'm used to that. This is the House of Secrets." She added, "Generally, Mr. Lynch and Anna don't leave much room for doubt about what you have to keep close." Her lip twitched. "We're all wanted fugitives, you know. If the government finds us, we'll end up in cages. That's why Anna was… where she was."

"I know." _And he'd rather walk on hot coals barefoot than talk about it._ He looked around the horizon; standing on the pool deck, he could see over the tops of the walls which blocked her view. "Spectacular view." Then he glanced down at her, and she held her breath. One knee rose an inch off the chair, unbidden. "Do you burn easy?"

"Very."

"You look a little red already. Bring up any sunscreen?"

"No. Forgot."

He spread his damp towel across her legs. Then he pulled hers from the back of the chair and spread it over her front, covering her from armpits to ankles. She felt herself flush. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He put on his shirt and took the chair next to hers. He put his hands behind his head and stretched out, looking at the sky. "You know, a guy doesn't often meet someone as nice as you , Caitlin. You're smart enough for Mensa, you've got a great sense of humor, and you have a personality that makes people smile at the sound of your voice. I hardly know you, and I feel like we've been friends forever."

"_Nice." "Friends." "Great sense of humor." I'm not sure I like where this is going._ "You've got a lot going for you, too, Luis. I wish…" She trailed off, completely at a loss for anything else to say.

"I know. Having to watch what you say makes it hard. I'm grateful for the way you all took me in and made me welcome. But I'm still an outsider."

Glass clinked on the small table between them: two tall glasses filled with ice and tea. Anna said, "I hear you're our guest cook, Luis. Thank you." She tousled his hair. He gave Kat a sharp glance; it was the first time he'd seemed uncomfortable around her. "And I heard what you were talking about, as I came up. Hon, you can tell Luis anything you want. He'll keep your secrets. He's one of us, or we wouldn't have brought him here. And the same goes for you, baby. Loosen up a little, will you? You need to get more comfortable around here; it's your second home from now on." He turned his head to look up at the little blonde as she turned to Caitlin. "How we met is something I'd rather you didn't talk about. Aside from that, use your own discretion. Just don't press him about that one subject. He might try to lie, and he sucks at it."

"Anne…"

"Baby, it's fine. Part of your charm." She touched his head again, briefly, and kissed the top of Kat's head before she left.

She turned to him. "You call her Anne?"

He nodded. "Am I the only one? She said she answers to Anna, Anne, or Annie."

"Maybe she does, but in this house, she's always Anna." She smiled. "Except Bobby calls her 'Mom,' and she and Sarah call each other something in Apache. Mr. Lynch calls her 'Doll' sometimes, when he thinks no one's listening." _And 'baby' is her pet name for Bobby. Who are you, Luis?_

"Kat, does she have a friend named Elise?"

She nodded. "A clothing importer. Good people."

"She calls her 'Tinkerbelle'?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes just 'Tink'." She rolled towards him. "She told you that?"

"Yeah." He quirked a smile. "I trust her with my life. But I'm never sure she's telling me the truth. How lame is that?"

She rolled back and rearranged her towels. "It happens. I'm sure she's never told a selfish lie. Her motives are always good. And when you learn the truth, you usually end up agreeing it was best. It makes her easy to forgive."

"She told me you've never had a boyfriend. _That _was hard to believe."

She flushed again. "Why would she tell you that?"

"We talked a lot about our families. She loves you all very much."

"What else did she say about me? That you have trouble believing, I mean?" _Please don't ask for a demonstration. I feel like enough of a freak right now as it is._

"Nothing." He looked up at the sky. "She told me a lot I couldn't believe at the time. She told me you were six and a half feet tall, and outrageously beautiful. She said you were smart and brave and kind, and more than a little shy. She said you'd never found a man you could fall in love with, because no man can see past your looks to the real you. It all sounded like a fairy tale until I met you."

She felt herself flush again, all over this time. She'd have loved to jump in the pool to cool off, but she knew the suit would become even more revealing if she got it wet. She stood up and wrapped her towel around her, leaving Luis's on the chair. "I need a shower. I'll see you at dinner."

III

"Sir, I need to talk to you."

Lynch shut down his terminal, closed his notebook, and looked over his desk at Luis, standing tensely just inside the door of his office. "If it's a complaint about your meal, you've come to the wrong door."

The joke fell flat. The boy didn't crack a smile or even move from the doorway. "It's really important, Mr. Lynch."

He stood and rounded the desk. "Come in and shut the door." In front of his desk, he'd arranged a conversation spot from an area rug and two loveseats facing each other across a low table. "Take a seat." When they were facing each other across the table, he leaned back. "What's on your mind, son?" The term was generic; he was vacillating on whether to tell the boy about their relationship. _Another son who grew up without me. At least this one had a loving family. Do I need to insert myself into his life, maybe come between him and the man he calls 'Dad'?_

"Mr. Lynch, I think I need to leave. If it's not safe to go home, maybe you can suggest somewhere else?"

He felt something grip his heart. "What's wrong, Luis? Everyone's treating you okay?"

The boy nodded, his face troubled. "It's been great here. All the kids have been treating me fine."

He leaned forward. "Tell me. Don't dance around."

Luis swallowed and avoided his eyes. "You've been good to me. I don't want to repay you by… abusing your hospitality."

Lynch waited.

"I don't fit in here. I'm a... divisive influence. The guys are polite, but… they don't like a strange guy sharing a roof with their girlfriends. Who can blame them? Rox and Sarah have been going out of their way to be nice, and it'd be easy to misunderstand."

"If you give it a little more time, I'm sure that will settle out." _Especially if things between him and Caitlin keep moving in their present direction. Then we'll be four couples, and we might have to revisit the sleeping arrangements. Whoa. Don't get too far ahead,_ he cautioned himself.

The boy shifted, clearly miserable. "I don't think I can stay here long enough for that." He stilled and said in a soft voice, "It's about your wife."

_Aha. I wondered if this was going to come to a head. _"Anna? Surely she hasn't done something to offend you?"

"No. Nothing like that." He looked at his shoes. "I'm not sure how she feels about me."

"I am. What's this got to do with you leaving?"

"I-" He flushed. "You've been good to me. So has she. I feel like… like I'm jeopardizing your marriage by being here."

He huffed. "Do I seem the jealous type?"

"No. But… you know what happened. Bizarre as the circumstances were, something happened between us." Even softer, he said, "And it's still there."

"I should think so. She doesn't fall in and out of love like a dizzy schoolgirl. And she's not into casual sex." When the boy raised his head to meet his eyes, he added, "Or infidelity." He leaned back. "I think if we're going to pursue this discussion, we need someone else to join in. Anna, please meet us in my office."

Luis's eyes widened. "What – are there mikes in here?"

"No. Luis, Anna can hear the rabbits getting into her garden. She can hear any conversation in the house if she wants, but she doesn't usually listen in. Unless someone grabs her attention by mentioning her name… like I did as soon as we started talking about her." He sprawled out sideways on the small sofa, filling it from end to end.

The door opened, and Anna stepped inside and approached the sofas. She glanced at him, filling the couch, and moved to the one where Luis was sitting. The boy moved over as far as he could, but when she sat down, they were still close enough to touch.

He looked at her. "You heard?"

She nodded.

"What do you think?"

She looked across the table at him, ignoring the boy. "He's right about us. Except the part about jeopardizing our marriage."

"Do you love him?"

"You know I do."

"He's young and handsome. Are you thinking of leaving me, doll?"

"Never."

"Why not?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't. You're my heart and soul, Jack. I couldn't bear to lose you."

He sat up and leaned forward. "How about a threesome, then? Or just a little extramarital sex?"

She laid a hand on Luis's arm and looked into his eyes. "No. I already have my man. It wouldn't be fair to Luis. He needs a girl of his own."

Studying his youngest son's face, Lynch said, "Luis, I understand your concern. But, believe me, I know what's been going on, better than you. You think Anna's been sending you signals, indications that she wants to pick up where you left off. Correct?"

The boy had paled to the color of china during Lynch's exchange with Anna. He blinked and swallowed, but couldn't speak. And he didn't move his arm from under her hand.

Lynch looked at his wife. "Go on, darling. Show him what you want to do with him, this very moment."

She slid over to the boy and hung an arm off his stiffening shoulder. She pressed her other hand against the center of his chest, over his heart, as she snuggled into his side. She exhaled softly, and closed her eyes. "He's scared, Jack."

Lynched held the boy's eyes. "Luis, you know she's not like other girls. Some of the ways she's different are pretty damn scary. This shouldn't be one of them. When it comes to love, she's as innocent as a child. If you look, you'll see her lay hands on every person in this house. She needs physical contact with the people she loves." He leaned back. "If any of the others saw you two like this, they'd wonder how you got so close. And they might wonder if you had sense enough to tone it down in public. _None _of them would wonder if you were having an affair." He put his hands behind his head. "So I guess there's just one question to ask: Luis, what are _your_ intentions towards my wife?"

Luis put a hand over hers where it rested on his chest. "I wanted to be her friend the moment she spoke. What else happened was completely unlooked-for. She's a wonderful girl. Any guy would be lucky to have her. But she's not mine, and I've… already had more from her than I deserve."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"I won't be making any passes at her. But sharing a house with her is making me crazy. Every time she touches me, I think of that other time. I'm sorry, Anne."

"Don't be, baby. It was wonderful. Almost like being with my husband, and I needed him so bad just then."

"And _that_ drives me crazy, too. That you were thinking of him the whole time."

"It wasn't like that. I'm just not saying it right. I knew who I was with. It's just-" She turned to him. "Jack, we've got to tell him."

Luis's face screwed up. "God. Another secret?"

Lynch looked at the boy. "Just one more. An important one. Luis, will you excuse us for a few minutes? We have something to discuss in private, before we can conclude this."

When the door closed behind the boy, Lynch said, "Maybe letting him go would be for the best. Damn it."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"Not your fault, or his either. He's a great kid. But he's had too many shocks. I don't think he's ready for another. I wanted a little more time before I took him home, but I'm not sure it's in his best interest now. I'm sure not going to tell him whose son he is."

"Jack, I think you have to. The whole story. I can come up with something plausible to explain how I treat him, if he knows he's yours. But if you're going to send him home any time soon, you'd better do it _very_ soon… while his family is sure to recognize him."

"What?"

"He's grown an inch the week he's been here. He's manifesting."

III

In her room, Caitlin sat at her computer desk, resting her forehead on the top edge of the monitor with her eyes closed. She raised her head a few inches and gently tapped her forehead on the machine again. "God."

The screen displayed the results of her data search: _Union College, New York_.

_A seminary. He's Italian. Catholic. I finally find a guy I'm ready to take a chance on, and he's studying to be a priest. Way to go, Fairchild._

III

The doorbell rang. Anna listened to be sure the girls and Luis were still all on the rooftop, and wished Bobby and Eddie were up there, too. Jack had already arranged for disposal of their guest's car; none of the kids needed to know this had ever happened. But they'd found out somehow, and had insisted on being part of it. _My boys are about to make their bones._ She paced to the front door and opened it wide. "Right on time."

The man holding the stack of pizzas goggled at the sight of her. She'd borrowed a swimsuit from Roxanne's clean laundry, a style that Caitlin wouldn't have worn at gunpoint. A millisecond glance told her that the street was empty, and the driver's rather wide form would have hidden her anyway. She smiled up at him, eyes wide. "Wow. The pizzas aren't the only thing at the door that's hot. If I'd known the drivers looked like this, I would have ordered a lot sooner." She beckoned him inside. "Come on in and set them down." She shut and locked the door.

She led him across the big room to the table, giving him a good look at her bare behind as she gave him a practiced wiggle. "You look Italian. I bet you've got some _sexy_ Latin name. Don't you?"

"Uh, Marco. Marco Bennetti."

_Bingo. They said he was the only driver tonight, but… _"Ooh. _Marco_. Well, Marco, what do I owe you?" She'd placed her purse on the far side of the big table; instead of circling around, she reached across for it, bending so far she had to lie across the table with her butt in the air.

"Suh… sixty-eight fifty." She'd ordered enough to be sure she was his only delivery on this run. Out at the curb, she could hear Marco's car starting and driving away, on its way to a local chop shop. He never noticed; his attention was entirely somewhere else.

She rummaged through her purse while she listened to his heart race. "Hm. I've got seventy." She straightened, turned, and handed it to him, letting her fingertips trail slowly down the length of his fingers as she drew her hand back. "Doesn't seem like much of a tip, Marco." She looked up at him from under her lashes, and turned her head to look down the hall at the closed bedroom doors. "Want to get the rest of it behind door number two?"

_Jack said to get him in there quietly, without alerting the girls or drawing attention from the street. He didn't say how. I guess these people aren't quite done bringing out the worst in me._

He looked her over, suspicion edging his voice. "How old are you?"

"I'm legal," she said with a little smile. Her eyes flicked to her purse, still across the table. "Wanna see some ID, or get down to business?"

Marco's demeanor changed like switching a light. He didn't wonder that a slim-and-smooth would make such an offer to a quarter-aged pizza delivery guy who looked like he'd been sampling his wares too much. He'd probably fantasized about just such a scene, and more than once. Now he was living it, and slid into the role he'd been rehearsing in daydreams. He grinned crookedly. "Got a jacket, baby?"

"Sure. But I'd prefer bareback, just this once." She licked her lips. "Maybe you want me to start on my knees?"

He blinked and reached clumsily for his zipper, but she laid a hand on his. "Let me do that. Let's go to my room." Smiling, she took his hand and pulled him gently down the hall to a door. She paused with her other hand on the doorknob. "I don't suppose you've got a camera phone, do you?"

He frowned. "Yeah." Then the possibilities started to present themselves, and the crooked grin returned. "You like getting your picture taken?"

"Not in the slightest, when I don't know it." She opened the door, grasped the jamb, and yanked him past her to sprawl on the floor of the office, where Jack, Bobby, and Eddie were waiting.

III

Kat was sitting on the couch in the loft, trying to take her mind off Luis by watching the twenty-four-hour news channel. Against her usual custom, Anna was letting somebody else do the cooking tonight: she'd ordered pizza that afternoon, enough to feed an army. Kat was munching a plateful of leftovers she'd reheated in the microwave. But a segment came up that made her put it down. They were showing that gruesome crime scene from Murrieta one more time. Her stomach hurt just thinking about it. She was about to switch channels when Eddie came up behind her. "What's _that_?"

"Triple homicide, up Murrieta way." She swallowed as she watched the bagged bodies being wheeled on gurneys out of the shabby brick house and past the 'crime scene' tape into waiting ambulances. One of the bags looked awfully flat and shapeless. "It was pretty messy. Eyewitnesses say the house is an abattoir, blood everywhere. One of the victims was decapitated. They're thinking another was carved up with a chainsaw, nothing but blood and meat scraps flung all over the walls. They were in the house for a week before somebody noticed the smell and called the police." She turned around. Eddie and Bobby were both staring at the screen. They looked like she felt. "I know. As if things aren't scary enough, now there's a homicidal maniac within a half hour's drive. The victims haven't been identified publicly, but the police seem to know who they are; they're just not saying yet. Word is they're from out of state, and nobody knows what they were doing here. The news is quoting unofficial sources saying it may be a gun deal gone bad."

"Don't tell Rox about this," Eddie said, still staring at the scene. "Not a word."

An odd request; Roxy had little interest in the news except for concert dates. She shrugged. "Okay."

April 30 2006  
Escondido

"Ready to go, son?"

"All set." Luis hoisted his bag and stood waiting at the door. He'd said all his goodbyes. Bobby and Eddie had been the easiest, but they'd got along okay, and he'd thought he could have made real friends of them with a little more time. Rox and Sarah had made him promise to stay in touch, and had kissed him goodbye in a way that had made him glad their boyfriends weren't watching.

Kat had been the worst. She'd been strangely reserved since the incident at the pool two days ago, and he wondered if he'd upset her. But she'd showed up to say goodbye with misty eyes, and she'd hugged him tight even if she hadn't kissed him. She was a wonderful girl, with all the qualities Luis looked for in a friend, male or female, and more beautiful than any woman he'd ever dreamed of, but he didn't suppose he'd ever figure her out.

Anne came to the door with Mr. Lynch. Separate, they seemed an unlikely couple, but you only had to see them together to know they were a matched set. They spoke in low voices as they approached.

"Jack, do you have the envelope?"

"In my baggage. I'll post it as soon as I'm in New York. I'll check the other thing out, and if I need you, I'll send for you."

"Don't leave me out, Jack. If it's true, the man owes me." Luis felt a stir of unease, certain his biological father's sweet little wife was talking to her husband about killing someone.

All her sharp edges disappeared when she looked at him. "This isn't the eighteenth birthday I would have planned for you, Luis. Be careful. Whatever Gen talent you develop, keep it close and quiet. If you have trouble handling it, come back to us, and we'll teach you."

"I will."

"If you have _any_ trouble, if you need anything, talk to us."

"Everything's going to be fine, Annalise."

She flung her arms around him and kissed him with her mouth open, demanding a response in kind. Mr. Lynch stepped past them and through the door as if he hadn't seen a thing. "Last chance. Don't be a fool," he said without looking at them, as he walked towards the garage.

Half a minute later, she slid her lips along his cheek and whispered into his ear. "I love you. Never doubt it. Don't forget me."

He swallowed, full of the oddly sweet taste of her. "I won't."

She let him go and shooed him out the door towards the waiting car.

III

"Anna?" Caitlin stepped into the kitchen just as Anna removed a tray full of cookies from the oven with her bare hands. "Can we talk?"

"Always." She set the pan on the stove and looked up at the tall redhead, who was standing over her with uncharacteristic stillness. "Trouble, hon?"

"It's about Luis."

"Oh. I know. I'm so sorry, darling. I didn't want him to leave either. He felt he had to."

"I know. That's… kind of what I want to talk about."

She stilled, and her expression smoothed out. "Oh?"

"I know something happened you don't want to talk about. I respect that. But I think Luis leaving wasn't just homesickness. And he's always so strange around you. You're close and you're not. Sometimes when you're together, it's like there's no one else in the room, and other times just being near you makes him uncomfortable." Kat looked down at her, imploring. "You know how I feel about him."

"I do. And I approve, for what it's worth."

"Is there something I should know, about you two?"

The little cyber met her girlfriend's gaze. "We got very close, the way people who share danger sometimes do. When I met him, he was in deep trouble with some bad men. They were his uncles, but that only mattered to him. He knows now that they were going to kill him, and that I saved his life. But he watched me kill one of them with my bare hands, in cold blood. He knows I killed them all." She raised one eyebrow. "Suppose that might give him mixed feelings about me?"

Kat's breathing stopped for a moment. "The business in Murrieta?"

"Yes."

Caitlin's head bobbed jerkily. "Yeah. That would explain it."

"Don't spread it around, okay?"

"No way."

"Best not talk to him about it, either."

"Not much chance of that. He's gone."

Anna smiled up at her. "You never know."

36


End file.
